#stille = silence is also right but Stille also refers to being still physically

[atinyniki]

happy new year!

group: stray kids !

pairing: idol!bangchan x f!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings + additional info: reader is referred to as y/n, established relationships, fighting, reader flinches bc of chan, reader is neglected, chan says rlly mean things, reader is pretty mean too, takes place on new years/new years eve, mentions of physical abuse, kissing, crying, kiss and make up (literally), chan is kinda mean to his manager (that he hates), petname, mentions of cheating, cheating accusations.

authors note: two posts in one day hell yeah ! this is also not proofread. english is not my first language, so please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors. happy reading :)

wc: 1524

“seriously?!”

he can only bring himself to nod, evidently a little upset at your yelling.

you both go quiet for a moment, until you break it.

“chan.”

he looks up at you again, playing with his fingers in his lap. “hm?”

“are you cheating?”

“what?”

“are you cheating on me?”

“n-no! how could you even… ask that?”

you roll your eyes at him. “you havent been home in so fucking long, chan. and now you’re leaving again and it… it’s just not fair!”

“it’s my job, y/n.”

“your job shouldn’t require you to be away from me every day! you just got back”, you yell even louder.

he knows you’re frustrated, but he’s starting to get a headache. “y/n—“

“plus, even while you are here, you’re never with me… you’re always sleeping and you never talk to me.”

and then it just snaps.

“well, what if i’m tired y/n? what if i’m tired of running around all day with shitty schedules? what if i’m tired of having to exert my fucking voice all the time? what if i’m tired of you being so fucking clingy with me? i need rest!”, he yells back.

tears begin to well up in your eyes, and the words lump in your throat. despite that, you still manage to say something.

“am i really that clingy just for wanting the attention that i deserve? i’m your girlfriend for gods sake!”

he gets up off the bed, lightly stomping towards you. you notice the upset look on his face, red, teary eyes, and his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. 

you scoff at the sight, “what, you’re gonna fight me now? do it. hit me.”

though you act confident, you gulp, scared for what’s to come. he reaches a hand up to cup your face, but you shut your eyes, flinching and turning away.

there was no impact.

you turn back to chan, his face completely streaked with tears. “did… did you think i was really—“

he cuts himself off, unable to say anymore. 

you trip over your words, you know you’ve hurt him now. “i- i mean… i don’t see another reason your clench your fists. i just thought that—“

“clenching my fists eases the pain of my heart. that’s why i do it so much.”

“o-oh”

an uncomfortable silence passes between you two.

“um… just- come to me when you’ve calmed down. i’ll be in the living room.”

“o-okay.”

he makes his way out the room, his fists still clenched. you hear the pitter patter of his tears hitting the hardwood floor, and you just break.

you’ve done it. you’ve made him cry.

what kind of a girlfriend are you?

you finally let everything sink in. you sit down on your bed, wrapping yourself in the blanket, but it smells too familiar. it smells like chan.

chan will be leaving you again in two days. you don’t want to think about it, but you can’t stop. this is what he wanted after all. to think about it. to calm down. but you can’t.

not after what you said to him. not after what he said to you. your breaths become labored, gasping for air in between sobs. it gets painful, you can’t inhale anything anymore.

you’re stuck, you can’t breathe, but you’re being too loud. so you slap your hands over your mouth, hoping that he won’t hear, and you stuff your face into a pillow, body convulsing with every breath.

you clench the bedsheets, just needing to hold onto something.

chan was right. it helps.

he is not doing too well without you either. he hasn’t been able to stop crying since you left the room, trying to distract himself with the future next.

he turns on the tv, finally finding the countdown to new years. that’s when he realizes how late it is. how long it’s been since your argument.

it’s five minutes till midnight. 

the next year.

a fresh start. 

but it won’t be the same without you by his side. he tugs at his shirt, sobbing into the cushion even more. he’s careful not to make a sound, not wanting you to feel even worse than you already feel.

before he knows it, there’s only two minutes left. he has to apologize. he has to make it right. there’s no way in hell that he’s ending the year like this.

he walks over to your shared room, knocking softly.

one minute.

the doorknob turns, and you’re forced to face him again. it’s just the consequences of your actions.

your pillow is soaked with your tears, as is his cushion that’s still laying on the couch. your hands are clenched into fists beside you, just as his are now. your bloodshot eyes stare directly into his, and it’s like looking at a mirror.

twenty seconds.

he walks over to the bed, eyes flickering between the wet pillow and your puffy face. his heart clenches at the sight, and he digs his nails even harder into his palm. 

still wordless, he kneels down in front of you, where your legs are hanging off the bed. he’s now level with your face, making him far more intimidating.

five.

a tear leaves his eye.

four. 

he smiles softly at you.

three.

he glances at his phone to check the time, hand reaching for yours. you comply of course, interlacing your fingers in a desperate attempt to just feel him.

two.

he leans in closer to you, heart beating wildly in his chest. it feels like your first date all over again, the nervous feeling in his chest.

one.

using his other hand, he cups your face and pushes your foreheads together, smiling even wider when you don’t flinch away from him this time.

zero.

he steals your lips in a breathtaking kiss, and you just melt into it. your hands find his face, but before you can do anything, he picks you up, lips still attached to yours.

he sits down on the bed and pulls you further into his lap so that you’re straddling him, finally breaking away from the kiss with tears in his eyes.

“happy new year, babe…”

even more tears escape from your eyes now, but you just can’t help them. you hug chan even tighter now, scared that if you let go, he’ll be gone.

“you waited?”

“of course i did. i couldn’t leave you alone.”

you kiss him again, whispering little love confessions to him as you do. “happy new year…”

he knows the elephant in the room still needs to be addressed, and sighs. “i’m sorry for calling you clingy. i didn’t mean it. i really love the attention you give me, and i truly wouldn’t trade it for anything”

“i’m sorry for yelling at you… i should’ve handled it better. thank you for being patient with me.”

“you know i would never… um- do something like that to you… right?”

“i know chan, i was just scared… it was in the heat of the moment. i’m sorry for not understanding.”

he hugs you tightly, “i love you so much, y/n. you’ve changed my entire life, and now i actually look forward to it. i look forward to my schedules, my comebacks, even waking up… because i know it’s for you.”

you can’t even say anything, scared another sob will come out, so you take some time to process his words, kissing slowly at his neck.

“i love you too, channie. thank you for being here for me, and thank you for loving me. i know i can be so difficult and just a lot at times, but it means a lot that you try to make time for me.”

he smiles, kissing you again and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “oh my baby… i’ve missed you.”

you’ve never heard this type of emotion in his words before, so you just know his words have a different weight to them this time. 

“i missed you too. wondered how i was gonna sleep without you, knowing that you were hurt and—“

“shh baby… it’s okay. i’m here now, yeah?”

“but you’re gonna be gone again in two days”, you jokingly whine.

he smiles, grabbing his phone from the end of the bed, and he calls someone. you’re not sure who, but it rings for a while until they answer.

“hello?”

“i’m not going to be there for the interview.”

“what? why?! we’ve been planning this for months.”

“okay, well my girlfriend was planning on having me to herself for months, but we don’t all get what we want, do we? i’m spending time with her now.”

“can we reschedule?”

“we’ll talk later.”

he hangs up, and you’re a little stunned by the coldness of his voice. you know he hates his manager, but that much? 

“not anymore, y/n.”

“i love you, dumbass”

he giggles, “i love you too, angel.”, he says in a sing-song voice while bopping your nose.

“angel? you’ve never… called me that before…”

he hums, giggling again and quickly kissing you on the cheek.

“new year, new name.”

<3

[winterrsun]

Comfort

Reader x Daryl Dixon

Warnings: Smut, 18+ only

A/n: This is smut but it’s like the fluffiest sappiest smut, it’s meant to be really emotionally gratifying. Also I’ve really kinda half heartedly set it up for a part 2 where they reunite with the group and Rick…let me know if you think I should continue this!

Summary: after the prison fell, you and Daryl start to mourn what you’ve lost and find comfort in each other, both emotional and physical.

————————————————————————

The last couple of weeks had been such a blur. After the prison fell, you were thrown back into survival mode and all sense of security was gone. You never knew where your next meal would come from, or whether you were minutes away from death. You were grateful you’d gotten out in the company of Daryl and Beth; you’d always gotten along with both of them and Daryl was one of the most experienced survivalists. It was nice having Beth to talk to and relate to the experience as well, neither of you being natural outdoorsmen. Even if he was a grumpy ass most of the time, and she was still a bit of a bratty teenager at heart, you’d fast grown extremely reliant on both of them being around you.

You’d all found a small shack to hole up in for a couple of nights, you’d also found a stash of moonshine in the cupboard. Beth had been insistent on trying her first drink. It made you both amused and sad when you compared her experience to your teenage party years, so while Daryl disapproved you thought it was only fair to have your own little party. That’s how the three of you ended up on the living room floor, laughing your heads off.

“Really Y/N, you never been camping?!” Beth questioned incredulously.

“Yer even more a princess than I thought” scoffed Daryl.

“Yeah yeah,” you laughed, “well I suppose my whole life’s a big camping trip now.”

“Alright alright, my turn!” Daryl exclaimed. “I never… bin to a wedding”.

“You what?! Daryl that’s just sad” you said before taking a large swig of the homemade booze.

“Yeah, even I’ve been to a couple. Only other time I drank any liquor, daddy let me have a glass of champagne” said Beth.

“What part of my life was a fucking shit show before all this do you two not get” he grumbled.

You rubbed his arm, “alright we know, just teasing you” you smiled.

Beth’s giggles turned to hiccups, and she eventually lay her head down on the sofa and you realised she’d gone to sleep.

You nudged Daryl and nodded at Beth. He smiled at you, and pointed to the singular bedroom in the shack- suggesting you and he should move into the other room so as not to wake her.

The room was small; a double bed took up almost all the floor space, so you plopped yourself down on it. Daryl followed, carrying the bottle of moonshine with him. He took a sip before passing it to you, who did the same.

“She’ll be right” he gestured to the door, referring to Beth in the other room.

“I know” you replied, “we’ve all been there, she just needs to sleep it off.”

He nodded and you fell into an easy silence, both taking additional sips now and then. You grew pensive, and some of the thoughts you’d been mulling around for days started to come to the surface. The tipsy haze in your brain had your lips moving before you even knew you wanted to share what was on your mind.

“I don’t think I’ve said it,” you said, looking to Daryl, “but I’m so grateful for the two of you. The amount of times I’ve wondered what kind of state I’d be in if I was on my own…”

“Can’t be thinkin like that” he replied gently.

“I know. It’s just, it makes me mad to think about how quickly our circumstances changed. Things were so good Dar, they were finally all coming together. And then…..it’s just nothing in this world can ever really work can it?” You were rambling a little, but Daryl didn’t look like he was going to challenge you or tell you to be quiet. He just looked at you sadly.

“Do you think we’ll ever see any of them again?” You whispered to him. A tear escaped your eye and started to trickle down your cheek.

“I don’t know” he replied, and to your surprise he reached towards your face and softly wiped the tear of your cheek, “but I’m glad we’re here together too”.

He didn’t remove his hand from your face, in fact he gently cupped your chin. You leaned into it, while his head dipped closer to you and he planted a soft kiss on your lips. You closed your eyes and allowed the sweet sensation to wash over you.

When he pulled back away he looked unsure of himself, and mumbled a “sorry” to you.

You shook your head, placed your hands on his chest and leaned back toward him, kissing him more deeply this time. His tongue crept into your mouth and started to dance with yours.

Your hands drew up behind his neck as the two of you continued, and he reached for your waist, pulling you into his lap. The kiss grew needier as you straddled him; it wasn’t a need driven by pure sex and physical desire. It was like all the emotions you’d been feeling since the prison poured into your movements, and Daryl lapped them up and returned them with his own. You could’ve been hugging, or crying in each others arms, but instead you were kissing and writhing against each others bodies and it had the same cathartic effect.

You clung onto him as he pulled his lips away from yours briefly, to gently and slowly peel your dirty shirt up from your body. You allowed him to manoeuvre your arms overhead so he could take it off and toss it aside. He then reached around and unclasped your bra, and took a moment to stare at and admire the sight before him.

“You’re beautiful” he almost whispered, starting to run his hands over your breasts and grope them lightly. “I’m gonna take care of you Y/N, I promise”.

You were almost overwhelmed at this moment of pure bliss. You’d never thought there’d be anything sexual between you and Daryl. He was one of your best friends, with a bond like family. Sure he was hot. You’d notice his biceps peaking out of that winged vest and your heart might’ve quickened slightly every time you saw the way he gripped his motorbike handles. But you’d always just been friends.

Let alone the fact that you actually had a thing with his best friend. You and Rick had never defined whatever it was between you, but there was denying when he snuck into your cell nearly every night who you belonged to.

But Rick was gone. You didn’t know where, or if he was even alive, or if you’d ever see him again. It played on your mind every single day. You missed him so much more than all the others, longed for him. You were sick of it eating at you, and you just wanted to feel good for the first time in weeks.

You clawed at Daryl’s shirt, and he took a break from massaging your breasts to help you remove the black tee from his body. You pressed into him as your lips found his again and you relished the feeling of his skin against yours. It felt warm and unbelievably comforting. He began to rub circles on the small of your back and you arched into his touch.

“Daryl” you breathed against his mouth.

“What do you need baby?” He asked, pulling back and grabbing your face in both of his hands, eyes searching yours.

“You…I just need you” you said pleadingly.

Daryl shifted beneath you and lifted you up to flip you onto your back on the bed.

He slowly pulled your pants down and hovered over your torso, looking at your cotton panties. He dipped down and placed a soft kiss on your abdomen, creeping along your hip line. You hummed and wriggled at the tickling sensation, enjoying it. You felt a warmth envelop you from his touches. Then his fingers hooked into the elastic around your waist and pulled the fabric down from your body.

He ran his hand back up your leg, his eyes following the movements before he flitted them up to your face. You made eye contact and he sought the non verbal confirmation that you were okay. You bit your lip in anticipation as you gazed up at him, allowing yourself to be completely vulnerable under his touch. Now fully naked on the bed.

You gasped as his fingers found their way into your fold, and began to gently stroke around. You flinched slightly as he ran over your clit for the first time, and he placed a kiss back on your lips, then trailing down your neck. He began drawing circles around your sensitive nub at a steady but not too fast pace and he lifted his head back up to study your face again.

“So beautiful” he commented. You arched your back off the bed and moan softly. He picked up the pace a little and your pleasure increased.

“Daryl” you gasped, “I need more. I want all of you”.

He nodded, stroked your hair with his free hand before withdrawing them both to unbutton and remove his pants. You lowered your eyes and watched as he freed his sizeable cock from his underpants. You sat up and leaned forward, glancing up at him with doe eyes before attaching your lips to his member.

He groaned as you took him in your warm, wet mouth. You suckled and licked around it, playing with him while lubing him up for you. His hands found their way into your hair, loosely gripping it while you bobbed your head back and forth. He threw his head back and savoured the sensation.

After a little while you pulled away and he gently pushed your shoulder so you lay back on the bed. He braced himself over you and lined himself up, gazing down into your eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re here” he whispered, hovering outside your entrance. You nudged your head up to plant a kiss on his lips.

“Me too” you said softly.

Then he slowly thrust into you. It ached just a little on the way in, but you quickly adjusted to him. For the first time in weeks you felt whole, and human, and like you were capable of something other than simply just surviving as he sank inside you.

You tensed around him and wrapped your legs around his body, which he took as a signal to start pumping his hips in and out of you. Warmth filled your body, radiating from your core to chest at the feeling of connection and intimacy. To your surprise, tears prickled your eyes as you felt emotionally stimulated as much as physically. You squeezed your eyes shut and bit onto Daryl’s shoulder, allowing his warm skin to absorb the moan that left you.

“Don’t need to keep too quiet pretty girl” he said encouragingly. You smirked and let go, noting the love bite you’d left behind before moaning out into the room this time as his hips continued to pound into you.

He pulled out briefly and you were left feeling empty and disappointed, just for him to gently grab your thigh and push your leg back towards your face, hooked behind his arm. He pushed back in and you relished the new, deeper angle.

“Fuuuck, yesss” you hissed and he smirked down at you.

“Feels good baby?” He cooed before grind his hips in a particularly deep thrust and you nodded, moaning in reply.

He picked up the pace now and you felt the heat grow in your belly, driven more by lust at this point. Your climax was building, and it was as if Daryl could tell. He drove into you faster than before, angling his hips upwards to hit just the right spot.

“Dar! I’m gonna” you began-

“I know baby, let go” he soothed.

With an almost scream you came, it rippled through you in waves and he rode it out with you. In this moment nothing else mattered, not the situation you were in, the home you’d lost, the people you’d been seperated from. It was just bliss for a perfect moment.

As your pleasure subsided Daryl snapped his hips into a few more hard times before grunting himself and moving to pull out of you.

“Don’t!” You cried without thinking, holding his hips to yours with your small hands. You felt his dick pulsate inside you as he painted your walls with his cum. It was the last, comforting gesture you wanted to take from him tonight. The feeling of him filling you up as much he possibly could.

His sweaty forehead met yours as he stopped moving, and you felt his penis jerk inside you one last time before all was still. You panted together for a few seconds, before he slowly rolled over to lay next to you.

You felt his ejaculate trickle out of you onto the bed, and groaned at the mess, grinning at him.

He looked around and grabbed a throw blanket from the end of the bed, using it to roughly wipe up you and the linen beneath you. You both chuckled, and he tossed it aside before throwing an arm around you and pulling you towards him to lay your head on his chest.

With your head on his bare skin and listening to the sound of his heart beat and the sensation of his breath rise and fall, you closed your eyes and fell asleep. He planted once last kiss to the top of your head before doing the same.

You woke with a start to the sound of birds chirping and sunlight beginning to creep in through the window, neck stiff from the angle you slept at. You felt chilly and looked down to see goosebumps over your bare body. Not just yours, you noted the extra limbs tangled with yours and remembered the situation you were in. You smiled to yourself, knowing that the amazing night was a once off for you both.

Daryl had just started to stir at your movements on the bed, before you heard movements in the other room. A female voice groaning, before stomping quick footsteps and the sound of coughing and liquid splashing the metal sink. Beth had arisen, and was experiencing her first hangover. You almost would have giggled, except you realised you had to get dressed quick and decide how to explain the two of spending the night in a small room with one double bed.

You looked back at Daryl, now fully awake and judging by the expression on his face thinking the same thing you were.

“Well, back to reality” you whispered with a shrug.

He pulled you in for one last embrace, planting a kiss firmly to your lips before whispering back “thanks for last night beautiful”.

[syndxlla]

best friends don’t look at each other the way we do

A low stakes, high reward, and self-indulgent Zelink fan fiction. Canon-compliant. Takes place between BOTW and TOTK.

Heavily inspired by my Zelink thoughts

I wanted to dig into the dirty, grimly reality of being the saviors of the world and not knowing how to be the savior of yourself. But you can find that safety in another person.

Fan fiction warnings: Canon-typical violence, eventual smut (in later chapters, characters are consenting adults), references to self-harm, eating-disorders, and a lot of angst. Each chapter will have chapter-specific warnings.

Chapter one: I used to tie your shoes

Song: We’ll never have sex by Leith Ross

Summary: Fresh off Hyrule Field, Link and Zelda have to face life after the Calamity, and come to terms with the long road to physical, emotional, and mental recovery.

Warnings: Vomiting, trauma, canon-typical violence, eating-sensitivity

Word count: 3.7k words

Author’s Note: I am so excited to share this. Please share and support this in anyway. I drew this art for the cover :) chapter begins after the page break. I love you guys. Also, these chapters won’t be heavily edited. Ignore any grammatical/spelling errors pls

Time. We never seem to have enough time. Green grass burns soft red embers into the field, a horse’s mane is rebraided at the nearest stable, and the stars shine as if nothing changed. Because it hadn’t, not really. The sun will still rise in the east and set in the west. The birds will still sing their songs at daybreak and the fireflies will still flicker at dusk. Nothing changed, but everything did. The air feels lighter, the sun feels warmer and yet Zelda’s fingers still shake as if she was in the snowy Hebra peaks.

The Princess by nature, is very gentle. She’s soft and patient at heart, but was placed under such strenuous situations all through her youth that caused her to often snap or lash out. But not now. Currently she is silent, stone-cold and confused. She was in shock. And Link could tell.

“Here.” He pulls out a baked apple from his pack, handing it to her. He has to get her attention twice before she finally takes it, their hands brushing for a moment. Her awareness returns to her gaze then, her bright-green eyes meeting his.

“I-I’m so sorry.” She sighs, her voice weak. “I’m just… so tired.” Link tries not to show his distress, but she notices his demeanor change as well. “How much further?” She says, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Probably another hour and a half. It’s just through those mountains.” He points.

“Dueling peaks. I remember.” She nods. “I remember everything.”

“Everything?” He asks as he starts to dig around a pack on the rear end of Epona, searching for his rito attire. It was starting to get dark, and she hadn’t stopped shaking since they left Castle Town almost three hours ago.

Zelda nods once.

Her silence speaks volumes.

He yanks out his snowquill armor, finally. “Do you remember anything from the last hundred years?” She doesn’t answer right away, she instead takes a smaller than small bite out of the apple. “Zel? Can I put this on you? You’re still shivering.” He asks, looking at her blank, traumatized stare. “It’s from the Rito, it’s soft as a cloud and will keep you warm for the rest of the way.”

“The Rito.” She sighs. “Revali…”

Link realizes that she hasn’t had any time to process what she just went through. She had spent the last one hundred years deeply focused, probably in a trance-like state. He places a hand on her cheek. “Look at me.” His voice is gentle and welcoming, not forcing her at all. She looks at him, their eyes locking. “Breathe with me.”

They take two deep, heavy breaths. They sync their inhales, exhaling together.

“It’s over. It’s all over, okay?” He reassures her. “It’s not coming back. It’s just us now, alright?”

She swallows, still emotionless. “You’ve changed.” She says.

“So have you.” Link smiles in an attempt to comfort her. “Can I put this shirt on you?” He asks again. She answers faster than she usually had, nodding twice this time. Link bunches up the excess fabric before pulling the head-opening over her hair. He then guides each one of her hands through the arm-holes. Link takes a moment to adjust the garb around her torso until it was probably positioned around her shaking body. She immediately sighs in relief.

“You talk more.” She mumbles, looking at him as he gently wraps his fingers around her long, golden hair and softly pulls it out of the shirt, knowing how much it irritates him when his hair is loose underneath a shirt.

He smiles again, “I do. Some people say I don’t shut up.” He tries to lighten the mood.

“Like who?”

“Impa.” He sighs.

Zelda’s eyes light up with that name. “Impa?”

He hums and nods. “We can go visit her when you’re feeling stronger, okay?”

“Okay…” Zelda looked down into her lap, the skirt of her goddess dress was barely white anymore. “I am going to get stronger, right?” She asks, her voice tender and broken.

Link’s heart sinks. Not because he’s worried she won’t, but rather because he feels responsible for putting her in this state.

“Of course.” He reassures. He believed it. He wanted to believe it.

“I’m… just so tired.” She repeats herself.

“I know, come on, let's get you a bed.” He then picks her up bridal style from the ground. They had stopped in the first place to get that rito armor for her. She rests her head against his chest as he lifts her onto Epona. She smells like burnt oil and exhaustion. He probably isn’t smelling any better.

They wouldn’t get to Hateno until noon at the earliest tomorrow, and traveling wasn’t doing anything for her recovery. He gets on Epona behind her, letting her weak body rest against his chest as they make their way to Dueling Peaks Stable. The road is quiet, so much quieter than it ever has been. The pair of lizalfos always swimming in the river aren’t there, and even the crickets suppress their chirps.

It’s post-apocalyptic. Literally. Link isn’t sure how to feel.

She throws up a few hundred feet from the stable. She gags and lurches over the side of the horse, somehow managing to keep it off of anyone. Not much comes out, she hasn’t eaten in over a century, but Link frowns when he realizes the apple probably triggered it. He silently curses himself out for causing her any form of distress. She dry heaves violently, and Link tries to hold her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. When she finishes, she holds her breath.

She can’t decide if she feels like she lost a bit of dignity or not. She holds back the tears that well in her eyes. Link breathes in to say something, but she raises her hand in protest. She would rather they act like it never happened. Neither of them say anything from there on, they just keep riding the final minute of the journey.

Everyone at the stable was asleep except for an attendant… who was also treading precariously between consciousness and a deep rest behind the counter.

“Excuse me?” Link asks to wake him up, hopping off of Epona after making sure Zelda would still be comfortable in his absence. She would never admit she wasn’t.

The man stirs awake with a jolt. He yawns, slightly startled, “So sorry, young man.” Link wouldn’t necessarily call himself young. He smirks softly.

“I’d like to board this horse till the morning, and we’d like one soft bed, please.” Link nods before setting down the required rupees. The man squints his eyes, taking the money in hand.

“Ah! It’s you! Link, was it?” He asks when Link turns his back to help Zelda down from the horse. “Jeez, you haven’t passed through here in at least six months! We were holding onto that old mare for you!” He gestures to their stables where a small gray spotted horse sleeps. Link’s first horse since he woke up from his century-long slumber. He only rode her in the beginning, when he was doing chores between Hateno, Kakariko and one time a longer trip to Zora’s Domain. But she’s old and weak, which is why she was easy to catch when Link was still regaining his strength. He stopped taking her out when he found Epona in the western part of Central Hyrule.

“Yeah… you guys can let her free.” He says as he sets Zelda down on the ground. She holds her cold hands together.

“Well uhh.. we tried. You see, after four months at a stable we let go of any forgotten pony’s, but she kept coming back.” He chuckled, his voice exhibiting a distinctive nasality.

“Here,” Link hands him a red rupee, not wanting to discuss an old horse any longer when he literally has the closest thing to a God in this world resting her head on his back. “Keep her for another month, I’ll come take care of her then. Okay?” Link asks. “Can I get that bed now?” Not impolite or forceful, he never was. He’s assertive but has a comforting cadence to his tone. For being such a talented swordsman, guard and easily the most deadly hylian in the entire kingdom, he was never rude or condescending. He was welcoming, and little kids often looked up at him with intimidation when they first met him, but it didn’t ever take long until they were chasing him with tree-branches while he fled and begged for mercy, letting them take him down with ease. The kids at the stables loved him, knew him by name, and would play as him in their silly pretend games.

The stable-man replies, “Of course! But you only asked for one bed, it’s not big enough to fit both of you.”

“I know, it’s for her not me.” Link then starts to guide her into the stable, where it’s much warmer and safer. Just because it’s quiet doesn’t mean it's safe. Hyrule is a dangerous place by nature, especially if you’re two century-old Gods being hunted for sport with the faces of children.

“You won’t sleep?” Zelda asks quietly behind him.

He doesn’t directly answer, and instead guides her to the bed. She’s weary, and he’s terrified of her not waking up. He wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he wanted to. He helps the Princess sit in the bed, and kneels before her to untie her sandals. When he touches the leather, he immediately gets transported into another memory.

It rips through him, just like the memories he had images of. Suddenly, he’s kneeling in the same position, but instead he was outside of the spring of courage. He looks up to see the clear sky, it’s sunset, and then his eyes meet Zeldas. Her face is rosy, and her eyes don’t have the blank stare they possess in the current time. He looks down at his fingers, tying the straps around her ankle.

“Really, you don’t have to do that.” She hums. He doesn’t respond. He never did back then. He finishes wrapping the leather around itself and then stands up. His face is emotionless. She looks at him, they’re about the same height. “I won’t be long this time.” She says. “I’m not expecting much anyways.” She sighs and then walks past him, but before she can get very far, he gently grabs onto her arm, holding her back. He doesn’t say anything but she can read his expression. He’s trying to tell her to have faith this time, just one more time.

Surely the Goddess would commune with her.

She shakes her head, and wades into the warm waters of the spring. Link turns to watch her, how her hair cascaded down her back, how her hands balled into fists. She turns around to look at him, their eyes meet. She smiles.

He comes back as fast as the scene played in his memory. He blinks a few times, and looks up at her. She doesn’t look any different, very little—if any—time seemed to pass. He doesn’t usually experience memories with someone, he wonders if she realized anything happened. Link didn’t even consider the fact he would keep receiving memories after the fact. His stomach turns, he feels like he’s lived two completely different lives and is forced to remember things from one that he doesn’t even relate to anymore. He doesn’t feel like the same person, the boy he was a hundred years ago is a complete stranger to him.

Link much preferred this life.

And that scares Zelda.

“I just remembered something.” He says. Zelda hums in response, a light-hearted noise that implies an inquiry. He elaborates, “I used to tie your sandals for you at the springs, didn’t I?” He asks.

Zelda smiles for the first time since they defeated Ganon. It’s a small pull of her lips, not showing any teeth but her eyes finally light back up. After she had asked if he remembered her on the field, she collapsed, not even aware of her own exhaustion until that moment. He ran to her aid, and ever since then she felt woozy, it only got worse the further from the castle they got.

“You did, yes.” She says. “I never asked you to, but since I was in the dress, you insisted.” She sighs. Link grunts in response. “It was very chivalrous.” Zelda adds.

They look at each other for a minute. Not saying anything. It was late, and two beds down there was a set of kid brothers sleeping. Link remembered them from their last visit. One of them wanted nothing to do with him, trying to act mature and ‘cool’. Link eventually won him over, though. They don’t speak out of fear of waking anyone. Zelda’s smile slowly fades away, and Link swallows thickly. They will never be the same.

He pulls her sandals off, her feet are filthy with century-old mud. He silently smiles about that. The closest thing to a Goddess in the entire world has dirty feet. How human of her.

Then, after pulling down the heavy rito-down blanket so she can slide in, he helps Zelda swing her legs into the bed. He pulls the blanket up to her neck, she lays on her side facing him. Her hands find their way up to her face, resting her cheek against them. Link pulls a short stool over to the bed, sitting on it and looking at her, bending at the waist.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” She asks in a timid, sleepy voice.

Link’s heart just about breaks when she asks. “Never.” He shakes his head. He takes his gloved hand and tucks a piece of her loose hair behind her pointed-ears. He lets his fingers linger a little bit longer than they should. “I will never ever leave you again.”

“Promise?” She asks, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Promise.” He whispers, “Just as long as you promise to never leave me, okay?” He asks, ignoring the lump in this throat.

“Promise.” She says, taking her pinky finger and sticking it out for him. He wraps his finger with hers, which is far daintier and softer than he's ever been. She is a Princess, after all.

“Wake up in the morning, okay?” He whispers.

“Mhm.” She hums as her eyes slowly close. He tries to disconnect their pinky fingers, but she holds onto his. He leaves his hand in that position, letting her hold it until she falls fast asleep.

Link doesn’t move his hand until he’s certain it won’t wake her up from her much needed rest. He looks at her gentle, soft face. No one even understands what she just went through, no one ever will. He’s worried sick that she won’t make it through the night, and he keeps leaning his head down to listen to her breathing, or places a few fingers against her forehead to check her temperature.

He does his best to stay vigilant the entire night, not once even looking away from her. But just before the sun rises, his body suddenly catches up with his mind. He also just had the most demanding battle of his life. His muscles started to ache, and he developed a headache. He was just a boy, after all. More than anything, his sword arm was weak, and fire-hot pain shot up and down through it. He probably overused it fightin the calamity.

He keeps telling himself that he’s fine. He has to be fine, for Zelda. His arm isn’t that bad, what really hurts was his heart. Usually he’d just down a fairy tonic and maybe go to the hot springs if he was in the area but this pain was different. A twisting and contracting ache in his chest pulled and tugged on his lungs and pulse. It’s the same pain he felt when he remembered Mipha, and more specifically, the pain he felt when he dreamed about his family before the resurrection.

The dream that gave him the memories of a little sister with blonde hair like his collecting fireflies in her pockets. Her laugh echoing, the call of an older man, the image of a royal guards sword leaned up against the dinner table. The touch of his father’s hand as he rubs Link’s back to sleep.

Link’s first sword.

He wakes up like a fire, standing up and almost toppling over. He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep. He could hear the soft tune of the penny whistle playing the standard stable theme, and the two little brothers played tag outside. He curses and looks down at Zelda.

Her bed is empty, and his heart completely stops. He starts breathing hard and heavy, his entire nervous system feels as though it’s pulled into stasis. How could he make such a foolish mistake? He swings his sword over his back, strapping his shield to his leathers and turns around in a wild-hunt to see the Princess sitting at the round stable table, drinking out of a mug and speaking gently with an older man.

Link takes a breath of relief, and approaches the two.

“Good Morning.” She smiles up at him. Her voice sounded much better, and her eyes finally had life back into them, but she still wasn’t herself. Her skin still looked sickly, her face hollowed out and eyes droopy. Any progress is good progress, Link decides then and there.

“I… didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Link sighs. “I’m so sorry. When did you wake up?”

“Oh not long ago, maybe twenty minutes? I didn’t want to disturb you-”

“You should have.” He interrupts her and her words get swallowed out of surprise. Link realizes that he snapped at her a little, and immediately becomes apologetic. “I’m sorry, again. I just…”

“You’re worried about me. I understand.” She takes his hand, her bones frail. In many ways, she physically looked worse today than last night. But at least she could hold a conversation. He nods. Zelda notices the tension, and changes the subject, “This kind gentleman was telling me about when you saved the stable from a horde of lizalfos about a year ago.”

Link looks over at the man, Giahzo. “Oh that was nothing, it was just two green lizalfos and a blue one who wandered too close to the stable.” Link hums. Their hands were still held together by Zelda.

“Don’t be so modest!” The old man chuckled, “Without you, it would have been a disaster! The number of monsters means nothing, especially when you don’t know how to fight!”

“That’s very kind of you.” Link smiles and then realizes he and Zeldas hands, he’s the one to pull it away. “What are you drinking?”

“I’m not sure…” Zelda begins and Link immediately snatches the mug from her hand. “Hey!”

“You can’t just drink something mysterious.” Link scolds.

“Oh it’s just a bit of Hateno Milk.” The man assures. Link looks at him, then Zelda, and then into the mug to see the creamy liquid. He brings it to his nose and smells it, and then takes a sip of it. Sure enough, it was just milk.

“I’m sorry, Giahzo.” He apologizes and places the mug back down. “I’m just on high alert.”

“Do not apologize to me, apologize to this lovely young lady you’ve graced us with.” The elderly man smiles with a chuckle, his eyes wrinkling up with his age. Zelda smiles, blushing a little, “Tell me, dear, where are you from? We don’t get many new faces at this stable these days.”

Zelda looks at him, her eyes sad. A hundred years ago every person in Hyrule knew her face. She looks at Link, unsure how to answer.

“She’s from the Outskirts stable.” Link covers for her. “Her family used to reside in Central Hyrule before the Calamity.”

“Yes.” Zelda immediately chirps, “We’re headed to Hateno for…”

“A honeymoon!?” Giahzo smiles brightly. Both Link and Zelda freeze in their tracks, and Link hopes he doesn’t look as embarrassed as he feels. “Hateno is a great Honeymoon destination! Although I’ve heard Lureline is even more splendid!” He clasps his hands together.

“Research.” Zelda clarifies, “so sorry to disappoint.” She chuckles politely, making a conscious effort not to look at Link. “I’m researching… population dynamics in Hyrule.” She makes something up that sounds completely believable.

“Of course.” Link then says, “I’m just escorting her there, we are total strangers.”

That breaks Zelda’s heart.

She knows he’s just trying to be extra careful, pushing her anonymity as much as possible. And in a way, it wasn’t a total lie. But it cut her like a knife.

“I see…” Giahzo doesn’t seem convinced. “Well, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to stop by. Hopefully the monsters will start to die down.” He smiles and stands up, moving outside.

Zelda is still afraid to look at Link, and he’s a little bit shaken up by the entire interaction. He knows the Yiga are still out there, he knows that there are people who will try to take advantage of her for power or money. He has no reason to suspect anything from the old man, but he can’t help himself from being deliberate. He senses her tension and walks back to the bed to gather their things.

“You should have woken me up.” Link says as he picks up a satchel full of food and readjusts his gloves.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was timid and tired. He turns around to see her, her green eyes looking up at him apologetically. “I didn’t know it would worry you so.” He approaches her.

“Of course it worries me.” He sighs. “I spent three years trying to get you out of that castle, I’m not gonna lose you on the first night.” He holds his hand out for her to trade, helping her up. She must not have rested as well as he thought, because as soon as she gets on her feet, she almost topples right over him. He catches her, holding her up before she collapses. “Woah there.” He mutters. “You alright?”

She nods, “Let’s just get to that house you told me about.”

—

chapter two

[elizais]

hii!! how about something like dazai's first meeting is with reader at oda's grave. it is ada dazai and reader knows oda since childhood. reader has an ability of being able to transport themselves + whoever in a 2m range to a moment in time for an hour as long as she is holding a photo of said moment. her ability is of a one time use.

you can choose however reader knows oda and i don't mind how angsty it is as long as reader and dazai are happy in the end!

thank you so much and don't feel a need to write this!!

"don't feel a need to write this"?? GIRL I LOVE THIS. i switched stuff around like lupin's locations and that but don't think too hard.

@cafekitsune for the divider!!

"photographic memories"

dazai x reader, angst/fluff, read anon's req 4 a summary!! mentions of alcohol, obvs spoilers. references to the day i picked up dazai but they aren't spoilers.

it was the day that marked another year since that day. usually, he would spend a few hours at odasaku's grave before heading to bar lupin. walking up to the old friend's grave, a woman around dazai's age was there too.

a bouquet of flowers was in her hands as she knelt before the headstone, carefully setting them down below the "S . ODA". dazai didn't say a word as he knelt next to her, she didn't say a word either. maybe not even noticing his arrival.

he placed a few flowers before the headstone too, earning a glance from the woman next to him. she doesn't seem to be too affected by him.

however, she mutters something so quietly only osamu could make out her words. "such a cheater.." she says with a tint of amusement in her voice. he knows exactly what she is referring to.

"i know, right." he responds, thinking of every time he lost to odasaku in a card game due to oda's ability.

they are in a comfortable silence, two strangers connected by one person. dazai speaks up again, "what's your name?" he asked.

"[name]." she whispered. she looked up at him, he sees her eyes meet his bandages.

"are you osamu dazai?" she asks. "the bandages are my trademark, huh?" he chuckled softly before nodding. "oh, no. don't take offense, please!" she says genuinely before carrying on. "funnily enough, i heard about your bandages from soda." she reminisced, and called oda by a nickname of 'soda'.

he has a lot of questions regarding what she just said but he voices none of them aside from one. "how do you know him?" he looks at her, she is looking at oda's name.

"my father owns bar lupin, and i have known oda since he began coming to the bar. he bought me sodas when dad refused to give me them for free and he earned his nickname of soda." she explained gently.

"what did he say about me?" he asked, curious on how the stranger knew his name. "when oda joined the port mafia, he told me about you and ango. nothing specific but i just remembered ango has glasses with a mole and you have bandages." she shrugged.

"spot on description of ango." he said sarcastically.

he sighed before whispering to himself, "i would do anything to even be in the safe room as him again. he is an excellent man."

the lady is very friendly yet still reserved. she thinks for a moment before pulling out her phone.

within the clear phone case, a photo of a younger version of the girl holding a can of lemonade and a young oda are together.

"i can take you to that moment for a little bit, if you like?" she offers unsurely. his eyes widen and nods slowly. "[name]? how will you do that?" he asks. the stranger's kindness shocking him.

"my special ability allows me to transport myself and anyone close to me, physically, to a moment in time for an hour. we won't be able to talk to oda but you will be in the same room as him as you wish." she explains.

"are you sure? we just met?" he asks, also unsure of if her ability would even work on him. "you must have been important to oda. so you must be a good man, too." she smiles softly.

her words echo in his head, 'a good man, too'.

"my ability nullifies any others. do you have to touch me to use your ability?" he asks, she only responds with a shake of her head. she takes the photo out of her phone case and stands up. osamu follows her lead and stands up too. "ready?" she asks and receives a nod.

the girl has transported them to the bar lupin. they are in a booth at the back. oda and a younger version of the girl are talking on the barstools. dazai seems to be very confused.

"why am i here? my ability should have nullified yours?" he asks. "you weren't touching me when i activated it. if you touch me now, our time here will pause so we can be here for longer than an hour." he nods his head in reply.

it was rare an ability gets past his, of course no ability could totally surpass his. but the complexity of hers was gorgeous.

"thank you, [name]." he says softly. she smiles, "of course. we both lost him, why wouldn't i take you?"

"do you want a drink, dazai?" she asks him, snapping him out of his trance of watching the past oda. "yes, please. but i thought you couldn't interact with anyone in this time period?" he speaks.

"we can't but that doesn't mean i don't know my way around this bar. come here." she takes him behind the bar and shows him the drink selection. they are stood in front of 15 year old [name] and a 20 year old oda.

dazai and [name] help themselves to drinks as they watch oda. dazai can't shake the feeling [name]'s ability gives him. so beautiful yet powerful. not one for combat but more for remembering. how it is so intricate yet can easily be explained in a few sentences.

dazai then hears his own name in oda's voice.

"oda-soda? what does the boy look like?" past [name] asks. current [name] gives dazai a nudge, referring to how she recognised dazai earlier.

"he must be around your age, dark brown hair and is wrapped up in bandages. awfully clever too! he figured out soon how i cheat in so many games." oda spoke cheerfully to the girl. current [name] found herself smiling at them.

"your ability is beautiful." dazai spoke. "thank you." she hummed. starting to walk back to their booth, she stayed silent. "i'm sorry about what happened." she says ever so quietly, almost as if it was the wind's whistles outside. dazai doesn't respond.

"we have around 5 minutes left. when we go back to current time, it will be the middle of the night. time is messed up when i do this, so don't be alarmed." she explains, interrupting the comfortable silence they sat in.

"i cannot thank you enough, [name]." he says in a normal tone of voice, but so loud compared to the quiet bar. "it is nothing, i don't use my ability much anyways."

both of your eyes were watering yet not a single tear fell. you may have just officially met, but you both had a newly formed bond that will be with you both forever.

now back at the cemetery, it was pitch black.

"kind of eerie, isn't it?" he spoke. not clarifying whether he meant the setting or her ability. she assumed both.

"yeah." she chuckled softly. "is each photo a one time use?" osamu asked as he looked into her eyes.

she nodded. "it's a shame, but if i could use every photo a million times i wouldn't spend any time in this world, would i?" she elaborated.

they both began to walk back, osamu beginning to tell a story of how one time bar lupin was closed one night but the lupin trio wanted to go out drinking.

they went to every bar in the city but there was something wrong with each one. one bar not being dim enough, another too dim, one having a weird looking cat, one having an ugly wallpaper..

she began to lose herself laughing at the story as he said how one of the reasons being their bartender was funky looking.

subconsciously, they both began to walk to bar lupin. when they arrived at the door, osamu asks her "isn't it almost closing time? will they let us in?" yet he gets a witty response.

"if they don't let us in, my dad would have their heads. i may be an adult now but in here i'm still that little girl with a lot of attitude."

only a few people are in there, each one in their own conversation. a familiar old gentleman is behind the bar. "[name], i didn't know you knew dazai?" he asks.

"i didn't know either. weird, isn't it?" she responds, the bartender knowing her and dazai enough to know what they will order. "on the house for you two. my condolences." the bartender passes them their drinks, knowing all too well why they met.

hours go by, so many that the bartender says that she can stay for as long as she likes but she will need to lock up if she does. they spend the whole night chatting away.

countless photos are taken, this night will be one the two of them will want to revisit in the future.

heyy!!! sorry 4 not posting recently! and if u got to this bit,, thank u sm xx, if you want something in particular, drop a req!!

[sleepyboywrites]

Creepypasta Fluff Headcanons for Trans!Male Reader Pt. 1 (Being a boy on his Period)

Because it's nearing that time again and being a boy on his period sucks ass. I'm making this to provide some comfort! For myself as a trans man and hopefully you too. This takes place with established and healthy relationships. Or as healthy as relationships with these characters come.

Tw: Possessive behavior, not necessarily wanted affection, rough contact, references to slight verbal abuse.

Eyeless Jack

• Run. Run right in the opposite direction if he hasn't eaten in a bit/is agitated. You will make him hungry due to his blood lusting demonic nature and he's not very friendly when he's hungry.

• You already aren't feeling great so if you go to him in that state anyways expect to be more uncomfortable albeit supported as a half-apology.

• If he has been satiated and is calm you may proceed to tell your demonic boyfriend that your cycle has begun and you are distressed and dysphoric about it.

• Cuddle bug. Like sits you directly into his lap and burries his face in your neck. Telling you words of encouragement. Think "I'm so sorry Baby boy." and "You're so strong y/n. One of the strongest men I know, I mean other men can't live through bleeding for 4-7 days on average."

• He's a med student so he knows the best ways to help with cramps and the physical pains that come with a menstrual cycle.

• He also gives you high testosterone foods and encourages you to wear one of his shirts and your boxers over your underwear to help with the dysphoria aspect. But he won't let you bind if your chest area gets sensitive.

• Tries to distract you and keep you as comfortable as possible

• Extremely protective during this time. He has a lot of self control but his instincts are still spiking under the surface screaming at him to lock you up/protect you. His emotional attachment to you paired with his constant hunger leave him clinging to your side and glaring at anyone else who approaches/gives you a weird look. Attacking anyone who hurts you emotionally or otherwise.

• Honestly a bit feral in a way akin to nesting.

• Insists on taking walks together once a day.

Laughing Jack

• A bit confused at first in his eyes he has erased any of your perceived biological imperfections.

• Hits you with the "But you are a boy" when you tell him you're feeling dysphoric and crying. "One who's very very important to me as well so please don't cry."

• Gives you your favorite candies and sweets

• Rubs your back when you're curled over in pain and sings you songs to help you calm down.

• Takes you to his amusement park and takes you on all your favorite rides and shows you all your favorite shows

•Always introducing the act as "Dedicated to the best boy in the world/my Favorite boy."

• Essentially his mentality is "I'm going to make sure this boy has so much fun he forgets the torment of having his brain stuck in the wrong body."

• And it fucking works. He has you laughing so hard that you can't tell where the stomach ache ends and the cramps begin.

• He likes to play "dress-up" in the sense where he has an array of gender affirming costumes and each day he insists you choose from the extensive array because even if you don't feel well at the moment doesn't mean you have to be reduced to a puddle of stained oversized clothes. He was always one for theatrics.

• If you say you really aren't up to dressing up he'll bring out an array of hoodies, baggy tees, shorts, sweats, or jeans instead.

• Genuinely just trying to distract and cheer you up

Ben Drowned

• Pretends to not know what you're talking about or why you're so upset. "Bro I assure you no one cares?" Followed by a long silence as he stares at you followed with "We all still view you the same, man."

• Then promptly refuses to leave your side

• Think anything from lurking in nearby electronics to straight up following you around everywhere.

• If a mission comes up he'll take you with him and make up some sort of excuse like he needs your help and your avatar is better abled than you physically. Alternatively if you have a mission he'll grab you and say he's coming with, before dragging you with him.

• Makes sure everyone is careful around you. No roughhousing or insults. Not at this time even if you protest.

• You had to break up a fight with the intent to maim once because Jeff had called you a "Pussy" in an attempt to agrivate you to change your mind about not being up for training today. Ben who had been lurking nearby lunged at him and you had to break the two apart.

• So much Gatorade. This boy makes you drink so much Gatorade.

• He also has a collection of snacks you normally crave and hoodies specifically for you in his closet.

• Let's you bind during your period until you don't take it off on time or act like you're in pain then he will take and hide it until it's passed.

• if you complain about dysphoria he'll roll his eyes as he drags you to his realm where your avatar already matches your gender and have you hang out there.

• Naptimes are mandatory once a day during this week because he knows it takes a lot out of you.

• Reminds you to take showers despite how much you hate having that reminder because you'll feel better afterwards and it helps with the cramps.

Jeff the Killer

• I promise he's trying. He's trying to keep things as normal as possible by being a jokey asshole dick like usual.

• Mans has your cycle engraved in his memory so on the first and worst day when you're at your grumpiest without fail he'll go "Can't you just give me a bloody smile god damn it?"

• You know he's joking and he knows he's joking but without fail you'll mock laugh at him, sock him in the nose, and walk away.

• One time you ran out of products and Jeff went to get them for you he called from the store and went, "Hey man, what size cunt do you have?" You shook your head, called him an asshole, and hung up.

• He tried to apologize by calling and texting and when you wouldn't answer he made you a care basket with hot wheels and various manly items such as boxers and button-ups/baggy tees. He also covered the pads wrapping in dinosaurs. And replacing "girl" with "boss" on the labels

• He's made a habit of getting you one of these everytime your supplies run out.

• Insists on more training and fighting because what better way to blow off steam and frustrations than a good ol fashioned fight.

• One time it went too far and the two of you ended up being patched up by EJ who scolded the two of you and said "If I catch you boys doing this again I will make sure Slender needs two new proxies."

• Always carrying ibuprofen and water. Always.

• Rubs your back if it hurts too much and treats you more gently.

•Will attack and maim anyone who misgenders you.

Homicidal Liu

• Liu is already constantly holding your hand as if he's scared you'll disappear, like the rest of good in his life, so you two are fairly well synced and sometimes you swear he can read your mind.

• You keep him calm, in a way that reminds him of before the incident because of this he knows all of you, obsessed over it and memorized it, including when your cycle is, it's linked in his internal clock.

• You'll often wake up to a warm bath and clean comfortable clothes if your cycle started during the night. While you bathe he'd change and wash the sheets then bring you breakfast to eat together after you finish.

• Tells you he's sorry that your body doesn't match your mind as he nuzzles into your neck. Snaking his arms around your waist and engulfing you in his weight. Sometimes uncomfortable but you know by now if you try to pry him off he'll only tighten his grip and agressively albeit incoherently mumble

•calm and supportive/protective and possessive are how his alters have always treated you. Both affectionate sometimes overly so. Heightened during your cycle due to you being in a more easily hurt and in a distressed mood.

• Think overlap of Liu and Sully's voices, "What did you just say to my boyfriend?" Followed by "You'll pay for that." should anyone so much as look at you funny in a way that'll make you feel worse about your current state of being.

• Said anyone would be carried away in a body bag. <333

• Gets you trinkets as well as anything you may be craving.

• Owns heating pads as well as cold pads at his disposal to help with cramps.

• Water/Gatorade and a variety of pain meds on hand. Always.

• Doesn't want to leave your side out of fear of you running into a less than kind individual without him there to support you and maim your instigator.

Ticci Toby

• You'd have to go to him about it because his ass doesn't know. His brain is on fifteen different topics at any given time. You occupy at least five but he doesn't have much memorized.

• He'll know that something is bothering you but won't know what unless you blatantly tell him.

• Once you do he'll probably try his best to limit his roughness/aggression and increase softer touches/tones.

• Much more pet names a lot less insults. IE: Instead of calling you a dumbass he'll call you pretty boy.

• If he gets frustrated expect said pet name to be said with aggression.

• He owns several weighted blankets he'd offer you to use on top of his own body weight when he flops onto you, should you want that affection. Though he still will with a piss-poor excuse of an apology if you don't and he does. Which he does frequently because you're one of the only people whose touch is gentle with him.

• Bad about carrying liquid. Good about carrying meds. So if you need an ibuprofen he will give you one but you'll need to either dry swallow or find liquid elsewhere.

• Also not the best at comforting you through your pain seeing as he doesn't experience that kind of thing himself. At least not in the same way, so he doesn't know what to do nor what you expect from him.

• He'll pick you up something he thinks you'll like when he goes out during this time but that ranges from "really sweet" to "the thought is what counts." Because sometimes his thoughts cross paths one too many times and he accidentally got you cleaning supplies instead of menstrual or edible treats.

• Think: "This rock made me think of you. Do you like [insert candy], because I grabbed some on my last mission. I meant to grab you strawberry mentos, because of a song I heard that made me think of you but accidentally grabbed menthol instead, I don't know how you'd use it but here."

• Essentially when you tell him he'll say "Okay, don't push yourself too hard." And then continue fairly normally while attempting to be nice.

Brian/Hoodie

• Initial reaction depends entirely on where/how you tell him. If you tell him in public in front of others he will simply look at you and say, "...okay".

• If you tell him in private he'll stare at you for a moment and then he'll give you a few well-thought-out sentences on how he'll be there to help and how you aren't any less of a man.

• If you give him a note or written thing however he will build you a cathedral out of paragraphs telling you that he'll do what he can to make you feel as good as you can, how this aspect doesn't change who you are not how you're received, and everything masculine and in general he adores about you.

• Always has water, meds, and a spare hoodie for you in close proximity.

• Doesn't treat you any differently in public or private.

• Very sweet most of the time, including this, minus his aggressive outbursts.

• It's very much the same old same old. He'll still melt into you and expect the same he'll still yell and throw things when he's having a n outburst.

• He'll still treat you as softly and as roughly as he does the rest of the time.

• Will get you your cravings if you ask but he won't really if he's unprompted.

• He may ask for your hand more often if he notices your distress/squeeze your hand more often.

• Though most of the time he won't he's too busy in his head or in what he's doing.

• Or alternatively trying to figure out what is in your head and what you're doing but not necessarily how you're feeling.

• He cares about you he's just not the possessive type in the way that leads to outwardly or intense displays of affection. Though if you even hinted to not wanting to be around people on your cycle you wouldn't be. He would hole up.with you until its over and be reluctant to let you go.

Tim/Masky

• Throws his reeking bomber jacket at you with a raised eyebrow. "Things like this provide some comfort right?"

• Cocky Bastard knows it's in his god-damn calendar and he likes to inadvertently let you know he knows.

• IE: throwing one of your favorite snacks at your head while you train or work.

• Bringing you water, Gatorade, and medicine to you when all you did is hold your head in your hands for five seconds.

• It's become almost a game of whether or not you can get away without him knowing.

• Mocking you lightly if you ask for help with anything. If you need supplies, or would like one of your cravings, or would like a heating pad anything. And you say, "Hey could you get me [blank] if you don't mind?" Or anything along those lines you will be met with an, "Ah ah ah pretty boy, say pretty please." When he returns with what you asked for dangling it out of reach.

• Also always asks for a kiss as payment for being your knight in shiny armor. When he gets you anything. One time he bought you a bag of chocolate kisses you were craving and when he asked you threw a chocolate at him and he chased and tackled you until you gave him an actual one.

• Deliberately and as a rule of thumb, Masky shows you a playful and cocky side he's created because you respond to it best.

• He rarely gets angry at you but when he does that anger translates to avoiding you and not speaking to you should he be in this state he will give you nothing, not even a hug during this.

• If you tend to be touch-starved during he'll be less likely to fall into that angry rut but if you're touch-adverse he's more likely to get into angry ruts because he'll take it as the front he crafted for you not being enough or attractive to you.

• Despite the fact it has nothing to do him and has everything to do with you being in physical and psychological pain.

[teatoptony]

The Same Boat

ask; hi sorry if this is too much detail but a request for reader the same age as Luke and joins the camp at around 16-17 but they had a really nice life before joining camp half blood and really hates the camp because she deeply misses her friends and boyfriends and girlfriends, and it takes place when she’s first joining and she points out to Luke how terrible the system is and they bond over being really angry about the gods. thank u!!!

pairing(s); luke castellan x gn!reader (romantic or platonic, not exactly specified but leaning more towards platonic)

warning(s); daddy issues ig

a/n; i changed the story a lil bit so that the reader didn’t just get to camp, but got there a little bit ago and was given a quest which ended a lil bit before the fic starts, hope u don’t mind. pre-lightning thief. i had ares in mind as reader’s gp but it’s not specified, i did refer to them as a dad and their mortal parent as a mom though

it’s been a while since i’ve read the books and i personally never got the luke hype so sorry if it’s a little ooc, also a bit short. had book luke in mind while writing but could be read for book or series luke ig if you ignore minor physical descriptions

art credits(left to right); velinxi, velinxi, frostbite studios

You had never known who your godly parent was.

You’d always assumed it was one of the minor gods, since the satyr assigned to your school hadn’t sought you out until you were old enough to drive. Either that or you just weren’t ‘gifted’ enough to garner much attention. You didn't know which you preferred.

In a way, it didn’t really matter. No one claimed you anyway, so you spent the first couple weeks of your stay at Camp Half-Blood — a very inconspicuous name, by the way — in cabin eleven, the Hermes Cabin.

It was a rough adjustment. You were resentful of this new world; a world of gods and monsters and magic and so many weird stories that made it hard to keep track of every twist and turn and easy to offend whichever god whose myths or name you got confused. You felt like someone was watching you at all times. Or would it be the opposite, since your godly parent clearly didn’t care enough to claim you as their own?

It didn’t help much when you were assigned a quest, either. Or rather, one of your friends were.

Austin Lake, a child of Apollo, was tasked to retrieve his father’s lyre from a forest — not just any forest, no, the Grove of Demeter. Or at least, a recreation of it, anyway. According to Austin, Demeter had banned his father from ever entering the Grove again when he’d had a little too much ‘fun’ with one of the wood nymphs there, so he needed his son to go fetch his lost toy.

Bit derogatory, you thought. We’ve been reduced to well-trained dogs.

Still, you tagged along.

There were a couple hiccups along the way, which you were told were par for the course by Chiron, who welcomed you back rather dismissively once you returned. Normally, you would’ve been offended. I mean, you get back from a not-so-semi life threatening outing, and all you get is a halfhearted pat on the back? Honestly.

But you couldn’t really find it in yourself to care. Not today.

-

You sat on the hillside as you watched the sunset. Wind carried the sweet scent of ripe strawberries from the fields along with the smell of dirt and other greenery as the grass beneath you swayed in the breeze. The blades tickled your skin as you basked in the calm silence of everything — something fairly unusual for this place, as far as you could tell from your stay so far.

You, however, did not feel calm. Quite the opposite, in fact. Your feelings toward the world of Greek mythology hadn’t been good in the first place, to say the least; you’d had to practically abandon any and all traces of your life back home in order to get here since you’d been discovered so late. You missed your friends (whom you assumed would be worried sick by now, since cell service was pretty much nonexistent here and you’d only been able to contact a few of them via post), and you missed the taste of actual junk food that came from cans and bags. You even missed school, as boring and hellish as it was. At least it offered a sense of normalcy that you so desperately needed right about now.

“Room for one more?” A voice asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. You turned to see Luke standing beside the pine on top of the hill, a Coca Cola in either hand. There was a small smile on his lips as he said, “I brought drinks.”

You smiled back at him, mostly out of courtesy but also at his offer. It was as if he'd read your mind. “Sure, if you want.”

Luke strolled down to sit beside you, handing you one of the fizzy drinks and popping his own. The can was pleasantly cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the harsh sunlight hitting your skin. “Thanks.” You muttered, taking the soda with a grateful look.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied. “We keep a secret stash of six-packs in the kitchen for special occasions. The harpies are pretty easy to bribe.”

Silence settled between the two of you as you sipped on your drinks. You stared straight ahead as you did before, but now you caught glimpses of Luke’s sandy blond hair out of the corner of your eye.

It was… awkward.

Luke had always been a bit of a mystery for you. Sure, you saw him as a friendly guy, and he had been nice to you ever since your first day here, but you noticed little details the younger or happier campers didn’t.

He never really liked talking about his father, Hermes, despite having been claimed almost as soon as he got to Camp. Okay, maybe that was fair, since he had to deal with loads of hopeful, undetermined campers asking him when they would be claimed, too.

‘Oh, I was claimed the minute I got here. But since your godly parent didn’t claim you yet, I guess they just don’t care about you.’

Yeah, not a great thing to tell a twelve-year-old.

Luke was also pretty closed off in general. He was an easy guy to make friends with, sure. But other than surface-level stuff like what color he likes or which Camp activities were his favorite, only one or two people knew much of anything about his personal life. Which was to say, his life before coming here, since it’d be pretty hard to have a ‘personal life’ when you lived in cabin eleven year-round.

You remembered the night before you took off for the quest. Luke’s face illuminated by flames as he burnt his nightly offerings with the rest of the camp, his expression one you could still clearly picture. A mellow bitterness — something kept suppressed for years, stacking and stacking and never getting cleaned out, building like dust and cobwebs on top of an old dresser. It was a face you assumed you'd wear eventually, too.

And that wasn’t even mentioning all the time he spent in the arena. His swordsmanship was the definition of textbook when he was training other campers, but it was a whole different story if you happened to stumble across him practicing on dummies in his spare time. His swings were quick and precise, as usual. However, there was an almost brutal quality to him as he maimed the dummy, slashing it as if it'd slaughtered his entire family.

Not that it would be that weird if the dummy had actually murdered them, Greek mythology and all.

Anyway.

“So...” Luke started. Then he must've realized he didn't really know what to say. He stared straight ahead and tapped his finger on his knee.

“So...” You repeated. You could tell he had something to say to you, he just didn't know the best way to go about it. After all, who would waste contraband on someone they didn't really know if it wasn't to sweeten them up before asking a favor? “..Did you need something?”

Luke opened his mouth, but hesitated before saying anything. “Actually.. yeah.”

See? No one's that nice.

“I kinda heard what happened,” He continued. You picked at the tab of your can, avoiding eye contact. Of course he knew. Something like that can't exactly stay a secret for long in a place like this. “I overheard Austin talking to Chiron about it?”

Well, fuck him then.

“He mentioned you wanna keep it on the down-low, so, your secret's safe with me.” He quickly added, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Oh, um...” You didn't really know what to say to that. It was bound to get out eventually, so it was the sentiment that mattered, you guessed. “Thanks.”

“Least I could do,” He nodded. “It was supposed to be a secret anyway, right?”

“I guess.”

“...It's bound to get out eventually though.”

You sighed. There was no actual hope with keeping this a secret, after all. The best you could do was a 'everyone knows about it but we don't talk about it' secret.

“I know, don't remind me.” You muttered. “I mean, it'd be hard to hide moving to a different cabin, wouldn't it?”

Luke chuckled. “I can't speak from personal experience, but yeah, probably.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. You felt like pulling your hair out. “How much do you know?”

“Not that much,” he shrugged. You didn't need to look at him to know he was lying, you had a pretty good track record of telling when someone was. “Just that you got claimed, and you're not happy about it.”

“How could I be happy about it?” You burst out, straightening your back as you whipped your head up. Your hands spread out in front of you and your heels dug into the ground beneath them. “I never wanted this life! What, I’m supposed to be grateful that my deadbeat dad finally showed up? That he finally ‘claimed’ me? What is there to be grateful for? That isn’t even the bare fucking minimum of being a parent!”

Luke tensed. You didn’t blame him. The gods were always listening, somehow omnipresent but not enough to be there for their own kids. Fucking ridiculous.

Against your better judgement, your rant continued, spilling out of your mouth like word vomit.

“It's not like I expect him to be there for every step of my life, but would it have killed him to show his face, willingly, just once? My mom works three jobs just to keep a place for the two of us to stay! What, he couldn't send child support every now and then? He's a fucking god! What good is being a god if you aren't there for the people you're supposed to be taking responsibility for?”

“Yeah, I hear that.”

You scoffed. “Sure you do.”

“I'm serious.” Luke defended, putting his can down on the ground. “I've only met my dad once, and even for a god he was kinda shitty.”

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, fine. He was completely shitty.” Luke admitted. With a bit of hesitation, he elaborated further, fidgeting with a blade of grass.

“Before I came to Camp, I was on the run.” He said, a faraway look in his eyes, almost as if he were talking about a different lifetime. “It was me, Annabeth and Thalia.”

“Thalia as in..?”

“Yeah,” he said, a bitter smile on his lips as he glanced back at the tall pine tree that stood at the top of the hill. “That's her.”

You bit your lip as you stared at the pine. Now that you knew there was a story behind it, your mind played tricks on you. The branches were suddenly outstretched arms, the leaves spiky hair and you could have sworn you could make out the shape of a face in the pattern of the bark.

“This one time, Thalia was hurt, and we needed a place to stay for a bit. Since we were desperate and not really thinking straight, we went to my mom's place.” He sighed. “When we got there... I met him.”

Luke took a deep breath, his eyebrows furrowing as if just thinking about that moment physically hurt. “I'd known what I was for a while. Prayed to my dad a couple times, too, but he never got back to me. When I met him at that house, I asked him for help. I knew we wouldn't be safe at mom's. I asked him for guidance... and he said no.”

You nodded along with his words. The sun was beginning to set now, a light chill in the air. The sky was a golden orange, which bathed everything out of the shadows in a yellow light. Luke's eyes looked almost the same color as the light reflected off of them.

“If he'd just told us where to go then and there, if he told us about this place...” He trailed off. He clenched his jaw before drinking the last of his coke and flattening the can. “Thalia would still be alive. Living. She wouldn't be...”

Silence settled between the two of you again. Luke didn't want to talk about it any longer, and, as curious as you were, you didn't want to pry. But it was less awkward this time around, a mutual understanding connecting you both.

“Kind of a dick move.” You remarked quietly. To your surprise, Luke laughed.

“Kind of?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Nah, total dick move.” You corrected yourself. You gave him a small smile. “Both our dads are jerks. Guess it runs in the family.”

“That's one thing.”

“Yeah? What’s the other?”

Luke shook his head, the corner of his lip tilting up into a half smile. “Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

You rolled your eyes. “Lame.”

The sky was turning purple now, a vibrant shade that leaned mire towards red than blue. Though soon it would be the other way around, and the harpies would come out to scare any campers who were out past curfew. You’d heard rumors that Mr.D allowed them to eat the strays sometimes, but you doubted they were true. Travis and Connor were still alive, after all. Though maybe they’d just never been caught.

Your run in with your father played on repeat in your head, each loop accentuating one horrible thing about it or the other. You fidgeted with the grass, ripping a few blades out of the ground. You bit your lip. Should you tell him about it? It would probably be good to get it off your chest. Plus, Luke actually understood how much this shit sucked.

“…You know what he said to me? When he saw me?” You finally muttered, deciding to trust him, just a bit. “He didn’t even recognize me, but I knew. The second I saw him, it was like something clicked. It took him a while, but when he made the same connection… He said, ‘shoot.’”

You laughed humorlessly. “‘Shoot.’ Like I was some piece of homework he forgot to do, and not his kid he abandoned before I was even born. I wanted to strangle him, I swear, but…”

You trailed off. You didn’t want to admit it, but your father was terrifying.

‘Watch the attitude.’ He had said, his hulking form growing until he was almost level with the trees surrounding him. ‘I don’t take disrespect, especially not from my own kids.’

I’m not your kid, you now thought, biting the inside of your cheek. He had never been a dad to you. As far as you were concerned, you didn’t have a father.

“I wished he were gone.”

…

You felt Luke’s gaze on the side of your head, practically boring holes into your skull. You glanced at him. Maybe you shouldn’t have told—

“You didn’t deserve that.” Luke suddenly said, a fire behind his words you’d never heard before. “None of us do.”

He stopped for a moment, his jaw clenched. Taking a deep breath, he turns his body towards you, facing you completely. There was no mistaking it now; there was gold swirling behind his blue irises.

“I have a proposition you might wanna hear.”

[petrichor-idyllic]

OPEN WOUNDS

Alright, alright, I just know people are gonna get mad at me but I'm having Maze Runner burn out, and the requests I have are throwing me through a loop right now lmao. (Requests are still closed.) So, I thought I'd write something different to get me out of my hole- my own idea. Yeah, I know, Petri writing their own original plot? Mad.

Hope I've got at least one OBX fan in my audience.

MASTERLIST | JJ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: Fem! Reader x JJ Maybank. Enemies to lovers.

You and JJ have a tense relationship - you always have. But, both of you coming from rough home lives, you've both resorted to the Chateau and John B as your saviour. Neither of you talk about it, but you know more about JJ than you let on. Though, tonight is the night. With John B out with Sarah and JJ's dad out of town, you finally have the Chateau to yourself - until things don't go quite as planned.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, themes of physical abuse, generally depressing subject matter, no depiction of actual violence just the aftermath but still trigger warning for abuse. Also some friends references.

Ah.

The sweet relief of silence.

Between yours and JJ's bickering, the constant string of girls flooding through the Chateau, the parties, the drinking and John B's terrible music taste - the Chateau is normally a chaotic bundle of angsty teenagers. But not tonight.

Tonight, John B is on a date, Pope and Kie are at their respective homes, and JJ's father is out of town, resulting in him going home for his own peace. Probably, because he doesn't actually want to be stuck in the house with just you.

But that's fine by you.

You're not really sure why you and JJ hate each other so much. You swear blind that he started it, but he says otherwise. You were childhood friends with Pope, and JJ with John B - so when John B befriended Pope, you both just ended up tagging along. Now, you're a certified Pogue, and you're close with everyone, even Sarah.

Apart from JJ.

John B says you're just too similar to get along, Pope thinks it's because you're both too stubborn, Kie reckons it's because there's some underlying tension you both refuse to admit. But it doesn't really matter why, in your opinion.

And Kie is clearly wrong.

Though, when shit hit the fan at your place and you decided to seek refuge at the Chateau, you kinda sorta forgot that JJ was there for the same reasons.

You've tried, okay? You have tried to get along with him. To make things less awkward, if just for the sake of the other Pogues more than anything else.

But it just doesn't work.

JJ knows how to push your buttons, and no matter how calm and collected you try to be, most of your interactions end in an argument.

But not tonight.

Because he isn't here.

You lay, spawled on the couch, wearing a long worn band tee as a dress as you scroll through your phone, an episode of friends playing on the TV in the background. You think it's the one where Chandler gets handcuffed to a filing cabinet - but you're really not paying attention, nor do you remember the actual name of the episode. You mindlessly dive your hand into the bag of potato chips resting on your stomach, laughing at some TikTok Pope had sent you.

Between work, school, and arguing with a pretty surfer boy, you very rarely get time to actually just chill out and relax. You've not even bothered to get up and turn the lights on, the thin shine of the moonlight and the electronic flicker from the TV being the only things stopping you from walking into something when you eventually stand up.

Not that you intend on standing up anytime soon.

Things are going well. You might even be able to have a shower without JJ thinking he's hilarious and stealing your clothes. Or maybe even listen to music without him blasting his own music even louder.

Life is good, sometimes.

Just as you're smiling to yourself about how good your evening is, the door is violently yanked open and then slammed again, scaring the shit out of you.

"Jesus!" You jump, looking over the back of the sofa, it's too dark to make him out properly, but his trademark red cap and locks of blond escaping his choice of head wear give you a pretty good hint. "Maybank? The hell? Aren't you meant to be at home for once?"

You're too angry that he's interrupted your pleasant evening to realise that he's in clear distress.

"Fuck off, (Y/N)." He spits, leaving you in a state of shock. That's blunt and forward, even for him.

"What-?"

"Leave me alone." He says sharply, going into the spare room where he sleeps and slamming the door.

You sit there in a bubble of confusion for a couple of seconds before huffing and returning to your original position on the couch. "Whatever."

Your peace only lasts a few seconds as you hear a loud crash from inside the room. You sit up, silently, grabbing the remote and turning the TV off to see if you heard that correctly.

There's more crashing and banging as undoubtedly JJ has some kind of rage induced meltdown. That's when your phone buzzes. You open it, reading the message:

Pope

I thought Luke was out of town???

You

Huh???? He is??

Pope

I just saw him???

Went to the corner store and he was smoking outside

You

????

I thought JJ said he was gone for the week??

Pope

Is JJ at the Chateau??

I can't get ahold of him

You

Yeh

Burst in about five minutes ago

Pope

Can you check on him for me

You

Are you fr rn?

Pope:

Pls

You groan, tossing your phone to the side as you stand up. You stop in your tracks when you realise that the noises have stopped. The house is now completely and utterly silent.

Which is somehow more concerning.

"Oi, Maybank, you good?" You half-shout, earning no response as you pick up your phone from the sofa - just in case you have to call John B or Pope in a panic.

You get no respond, slowly walking towards the room. "JJ? Hey - you okay?" You knock on the door.

"Leave me alone." JJ's voice breaks as you hear his voice through the door, and you feel your stomach sink.

You don't particularly like JJ, sure, he's like, the hottest man you've ever seen, and he is genuinely kind of funny sometimes. That doesn't matter; you don't like him.

But you can empathise with him. And he's Pope's friend.

And it doesn't take a genuis to put the dots together about what's happened.

"JJ." You sigh. "I'm coming in."

To your surprise, he doesn't respond, so you slowly push the door open.

The room is a mess, clothes are scattered everywhere, a lamp's broken, the bed sheets are a mess and the pillow is across the room, slumped against a wall. It looks like he's thrown anything he managed to get his hands on. JJ sits on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, he stares at the floor, one hand in his messy blond locks, the other resting on his knee, red cap in his hand.

He doesn't look up as you walk in, his hair hiding his face along with the dimly lit room. Silently, you move, walking to sit next to him. You leave enough distance between you to make neither of you uncomfortable.

"I told you to leave me alone." He mumbles, not even looking at you.

You hesitate for a second, sighing.

"...my step dad was an asshole. When things got bad, I'd lose my shit and scream at anyone who got too close, screaming about how I wanted to be on my own. ...But, all I ever really wanted was for someone to push past all that and act like they cared about me."

JJ doesn't move, or even look up, so you keep talking.

"You can hate me, and tease me, and throw shit, and say you hate everyone and this whole shitty island and whatever you want to say to get it out your system - I get it. But I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you, Maybank - so suck it up."

JJ is still silent, but his hand falls from his hair, loosely resting on his knee as he finally looks at you. You look at him out of the corner of your eye, and try not to visibly react.

JJ already has a black eye forming, a cut on his cheek and blood smeared under her nose. There's also blood staining the back of his hand, probably from wiping his nose.

"... you gonna put our petty differences aside for five minutes and let me fix that?" You ask; reacting dramatically or with pity is just going to piss him off even more.

JJ hesitates, but eventually nods, sighing. "Alright... but I don't wanna talk about it."

"I wasn't gonna ask." You stand up, offering him a hand, that he doesn't take, before he brushes past you and out the room.

That's about right.

He sits on the sofa as you get the appropriate means from the first aid box. You walk back to him, looking at him for a second before you step forward and touch his face for him to look up. He immediately flinches, pulling himself away, making you huff.

"Dude, I've gotta touch you if I'm gonna help you." JJ mumbles something you don't quite catch, but he lets you lift his face. You lightly dab under his nose, wiping the blood away before moving to the cut on his cheek.

He hisses as you press an alcohol wipe to his cheek.

"Sorry," you mumble.

"Could've warned me."

"Figured you wouldn't be such a pussy."

JJ simply rolls his eyes at this as you continue to nurse to him. Then you grab some glue strips, pressing down on one side of the cut and pulling the skin up to reach the other, tightly holding the cut together so it leaves less of a scar.

"Why are you helping me?" The question catches you off-guard, making you look him in the eye.

And you suddenly become very aware of how close you are. JJ isn't the goofy kid who always had a tooth missing and dirt on his clothes that you grew up with anymore. He's objectively gorgeous - there's a reason there's a seemingly endless amount of girls in the Chateau when he's around.

His bright ocean blue eyes lock with yours, and for a second, you understand. You understand all of those girls you judged and made fun of for falling for the blond's charm.

I mean look at him. How could they not?

And now is the worst moment to realise that.

You stand between his legs, bodies close, you're only wearing a thin lounge shirt and JJ's hands rest on his open legs, almost like he's fighting the instinct to put them on your waist.

You clear your throat, ripping your eyes away from his hypnotic gaze. He notices the shift, raising his eyebrow as you finally answer his question.

"I think I've already explained that."

He shrugs. "Yeah, I guess, but, like, you don't have to do this. Ain't you meant to hate me?"

"I only hate you because you hated me first."

"I didn't."

"Did too."

"Whatever." He pauses, eyes following your every move as you brush hair out of your face, grabbing his jaw.

"Stop moving."

"It hurts."

"Cope."

You place another gluestrip on his cheek. He opens his mouth to speak, but quickly shuts it again, making you curious. "What?"

"What, what?"

"You were gonna say something." You hook a finger under his chin, angling his face so you can see what you're doing better.

"No, I wasn't."

"Alright, fine - you weren't then."

The silence around you becomes more tense, and then JJ sighs. "I don't- I don't actually hate you."

You pause, looking at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"I mean, you're annoying as shit," he continues, "but... you're the only person that seems to be able to put up with my shit. So... yeah, yanno."

"So... you don't hate me?" You pull your hands away from his face, and he shakes his head, shrugging before running his fingers through his hair.

"No... you help around here - I mean, the Chateau would be trashed if you weren't around, and you help Pope out. And, I mean, he cares about you, for some reason, so you can't be all bad."

You scoff at this. "Yeah, yeah - you'll need some ice for that eye." He rolls his eyes in response as you return to the kitchen, bringing back a bag of frozen peas, which he presses to his eye as you finally sit down.

"It's cold."

"Is it really?"

"Ha ha." He fake laughs. "What were you even doing, anyway?"

"I watching TV and enjoying a peaceful evening."

"Sorry to ruin your evening." He says sarcastically.

"It ain't your fault." You respond, not quite sure where to go from here but you can't quite meet his eye either. It falls quiet again.

"...thank you."

He says it in such a whisper you think you're actually losing your mind at first. "What?"

"I, uh," he rubs his face. "I said thank you. You... you didn't have to do this. The others... When I- when..." He sighs. "Normally, they just leave me to it. They don't get it, they don't understand."

"They don't, not in the way you want them to, but they understand that you're going through something horrible. And they don't wanna make things worse. And you tell them to leave you alone and avoid talking about it - people can't help you if you don't let them, JJ." You say, your voice becoming softer as you finally look at him.

"You managed." He responds, watching you carefully. You don't really want to have this conversation either.

"Yeah, well, I'm stubborn." You joke, earning a snort and him dropping and shaking his head, his hands falling to his lap with the bag of peas.

"Yeah, you can say that again." He pauses. "Mind if I join you with your little marathon? I've got nothing better to do."

"What?" You scoff. "You want to willingly spend time together?"

"Yeah - fuck it, why not? It's been a shitty day, I'm not sure even your annoying-ass could make it worse."

"Ah, well, I'm sure I can find a way." JJ grins at your sarcastic comment, picking up the remote and flicking the TV back on. "Friends? Seriously?"

"What? It's good."

"Ehh, is it, though?"

"Just 'cause you have no taste."

"Rude. Well, what would you rather watch?"

"Uh, Two Guys and A Girl?" You blankly look at him. "You don't know what that is, do you?"

"No-"

"'Course you don't."

"Just 'cause you're a film freak." You sneer.

"Just 'cause you're uncultured." He retorts, then sighs. "It's another nineties sit-com. Only has two seasons."

"That probably means it's bad."

"Shut up. Ryan Reynolds is in it."

"That doesn't mean it's good."

"Uhh, yeah, it does."

You continue your dumb bickering, even though you do ultimately continue watching friends - JJ even laughs at some of the bad jokes. It's... weirdly nice.

You're not sure if it's just because you've become painfully aware that you're attracted to him, or if you guys are just trauma bonding, but it's almost fun.

"Ross is such a dick. Rachel deserves better." You chuckle at his comment, rolling your eyes. Then, after a moment, you speak.

"Oh, Maybank?"

"Yeah?" He responds between mouthfuls of potatoe chips.

"You don't need to thank me."

He pauses, glancing at you. "Yeah, I know - but I still will."

You nod, a small smile on your lips. "Well, you're welcome then."

○□○□○□○□○

"Guys! Guys!" John B rushes out the Chateau the next day as Kie and Pope carry booze and cups for plans of a kegger that evening. "You gotta see this."

"Huh? See what?" Kie blinks at the boy as she climbs out of her car, adjusting the bag she's holding full of paper cups. She'd lectured Pope for trying to buy plastic ones, which had condemned her to having to carry them.

"What are you talking about?" Pope raises an eyebrow.

"Shhh! Keep your voices down!" John B whisper-yells, making them exchange puzzled looks. "Come on. Come on!" He summons them to follow him, in which they shrug at each other as they follow him inside.

"Dude, what's going on?" Pope hisses, his tone low as John B leads them into the living room area.

John B puts a finger to his lips, then points at the couch. Kie and Pope exchange another glance before walking around the sofa.

"Holy-" Kie starts before John B dramatically shushes her again.

On the couch, you and JJ remain. You're not sure when you fell asleep, but you did.

You're both still sat up, your head resting on JJ's shoulder, his arm loosely around yours as his head rests on top of yours. You're almost snuggled into the crook of his neck, your knees pulled up and slighting resting on the edge of his lap.

"Should we wake them up?" Pope asks. "Psst! Guys-"

Kie slaps his arm. "Don't you dare. They're gonna get along even less when they wake up - let's just enjoy the peace whilst it lasts."

John B smirks and nods. "Yeah, come on, let's head to the Boneyard and start setting things up. They'll catch up later."

The trio walk out as quietly as they can, leaving you two to your slumber.

Kie's right; when you both wake up, you're going to be embarrassed and probably angry at the other. But right now, you're blissfully unaware.

The bag of frozen peas defrosts on the table, and even though JJ is clearly hurt, he's been taken care of, and seems content.

Yeah, so, I'm providing content no one asked for. This is my blog, let me live.

Lmao, in all seriousness, I figured writing the start of a potential crush could be cute for a change and it's nice writing for another one of my favourite boys, who isn't Minho.

I know this isn't my demography, but I'm tryna make my masterlist look less empty.

Anyway, I hope at least one of you enjoyed this :))

[unabashegirl]

Nameless

DISCLAIMER: the rest of this one shot is available only on Patreon! SUBSCRIBE TO MY PATREON for only $3 USD and have access to exclusive one-shots and series!

masterlist

Word count: 2.2K

“We are assholes,” you said very bluntly as you entered his at-home studio. His head popped up from the stacked pages that held the possible lyrics for his next album. His eyebrows were knit together and his lips slightly parted. He wore big, framed glasses that made him irresistible. The optometrist had ordered them for him after you had shared that he held his phone too close to his face when reading texts.

“Christ, wha’ did we do?” He asked, clueless as to why you were making a big fuss. You had been going through so many changes not only physically, but emotionally too. You just prayed and thanked God that Harry was known for his never-ending patience.

“We haven’t told anyone” You through your body on the same couch that he was sitting just a few inches away from him. “At least not anyone close to us” You added, blocking, and throwing your phone on the cushion beside you. It was cold in the basement, so you threw on the first blanket you saw.

“S’not true. We told our parents” He scratched the beard that he had been growing since the tour had ended. “It’s too early anyway” He dropped the pencil and sat back. He was now clearly invested and entertained by the conversation.

“It’s been four months” You giggled at his awful sense of time. “We are almost halfway there”

“I think we should pull a whole Kardashian situation” He shrugged, as he shifted his body towards you and grabbed your ankle from under the blankets. Harry referred to how all the members of the Kardashian clan always hid their pregnancies until the child had been born.

“All of their friends always know that they're pregnant” You laughed as he ticked your foot after taking off the dinosaur-themed sock. You grabbed a pillow and chucked it at him but missed.

“I am trying to be a nice husband and give you a foot massage and not only you are insulting me but throwing pillows at me!” He gasped with a big smile threatening to give him away.

“Sorry. I love you” You smiled, nudging him gently with your foot, so he would continue.

“You are lucky that you are cute and that you are pregnant with my baby” he mumbled kissing the inside of your ankle before starting to massage the bottom of your foot. “I want to keep you both save and once it’s out there; I can't do much”.

You had been pregnant before. It had been before Love on Tour began. Unfortunately, you had lost the baby. The emotional pain had been unmeasurable. You cried every day and Harry isolated himself from the world. None of you spoke a word about it those first few weeks. That all ended when both of your mothers turned up at the front door. They dug both of you out of depression and pushed you to keep going.

“Just think how Jeff, James, Mitch, and Sarah are going to feel when they find out that we kept them in the dark because we didn’t trust them enough” You argued, “our friends deserve to know”.

“I guess you are right,” Harry said after a few minutes of silence, “But that’s it. We are still not telling the rest of the world until you give birth” it was a compromise and if you had learned something about being in a relationship for so long was to always find the middle ground.

“You got yourself a deal” You winked as he moved to the other foot. “We also must choose names” Harry groaned and threw his head back. “Just for a few minutes”. You had decided not to find out the sex of the baby until the birth which meant you needed at least two names. It always ended with both of you being over saturated and hating every single name in the books. It drove Harry nuts, but he also didn’t want to produce a weird name that made him stand out more. Neither of you wanted to give him an incredibly unique name. He or she was already going to have enough of being Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N daughter or son… CONTINUED ON PATREON

[apfelkuchle]

Hello! I saw you wanted to have requests coming to you and I wanted to give you that request! Of course you dont have to, but here we go!

I was thinking Transformers Prime Optimus, Ratchet, and Ultra Magnus reacting to Female Human being heavily bullied like a fight happened. I would like to see their over protective reactions when they just came over to pick them up from work like a normal day.

You may add or subtract to this idea I do not mind anything you do! I just wanted to give you some ideas! Hopefully you are doing ok and have fun!

ahh tysm for the ask im excited to be doing this again :D i haven’t watched tfp in a hot second but i still love these characters ❤️

(platonic) TFP Optimus, Ratchet, and Ultra Magnus reactions to human reader in a fight

warnings: reader uses she/her pronouns, reader is a minor (platonic relationship), implied violence, minor injury

Optimus Prime

Its rare that optimus is able to pick you up from school, though he tries to as often as possible

he’s just so busy, but he always tries to make time for you. he holds a very strong belief that the Autobots should maintain a close relationship with their humans, and hes no exception

and hes done well with that, hed even consider you a friend. a close one.

so when you step into his cab with your head down, and only hum at his greeting, hes worried.

very worried

he’s aware of the bullying. he’s allowed you to talk, and encouraged you to, while he works on his data pads. it upsets him a great deal, but there’s little he can do

he knows little about human children and how horrible some teenagers can be at times

ultimately, he’s upset, borderline angry when he sees the scuffs on your face and the bruising on your chin.

he doesn’t know much about humans to begin with, much less about comfort in general. but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try his best.

“(y/n),” Optimus starts. “Are you feeling alright?”

He hadn’t yet seen the cuts and bruises on your face, and you’d like to keep it that way.

You’re head rests on his window, “Can we just go?”

Optimus stays silent for a moment, slightly shocked at your sudden and aggressive tone. “Of course.”

Much of the ride is silent as he searches for the right words. He already knows what has happened, or at least he’s assumed. These “bullies”, “deceptions in human skin” as Ratchet had called them during one of their late night discussions.

You sniffle, and Optimus is pulled from his thoughts.

“(y/n),” Optimus says. He pauses once more, “Are you… alright?”

Of course not. You’re crying, you’re hurt. Of course you’re not alright! But what else is he to say? He’s clueless how to help you, but he can’t just let you be. Not right now.

“M’fine,” you choke out, and clear your throat. And more clearly, “I’m sorry, yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Optimus activates his holoform in the seat beside you. “I would not be your guardian if I did not worry… I know it was them. Please, look at me.”

As you raise your head, he catches sight of the extent of your injury, and he can feel the anger begin to rise. But he keeps quiet, and makes eye contact.

Optimus sighs quietly, and pulls to the side of the empty, long road. He turns to look at you again, contemplating.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

And it’s your turn to pause and think. The tears well in your eyes. Optimus silently opens his arms in welcome, and you accept the hug.

Ratchet

much like optimus, ratchet is a busy mech. often times he has bumblebee pick you up for him, being too engrossed in his own work to bother stepping away

it also took him a long time to find out about the bullying. he finds it easier to focus with silence, talking and music only disrupts his peace and makes it difficult for him to work. thus, you couldn’t talk to him about it for a while

but being a field medic, and the (now) sole medic of the autobots isn’t just about physical injury. it’s mental aswell, and the signs of unrest and upset are clear as day to him

when you step into his cab, he assumes you’re just being “a teenager”, as he’s heard june refer to it many times before with jack.

“What’s the matter with you?” Ratchet grunts. “Ow, watch it!”

The door to his passenger seat slams, and the cab rocks as you slump against the door aggressively. Ratchet grumbles something about “children” and pulls out of the school lot.

Ratchet’s holoform is activated, as to avoid suspicion from human locals. A quick glance in your direction morphs to a worried stare. Your shaking is a little difficult to ignore. And then it clicks for him.

“What did they say?” Ratchet spoke softly, just loud enough for you to hear him. He’s not upset at you for slamming the door, not right now.

“Nothing,” you mutter. “… they jumped me.”

“What..?” Ratchet exhales in consternation. He’s commonly referred to such people as “deceptions in human skin”. He had once been exaggerating, however, he’s becoming more convinced.

Ratchet stops on the side of a disused road on the way to the base, and his holoform exits.

“Get out, in the back. I have tools back here.”

He’s not a talker. By any means. But he cares, in his own way.

Ultra Magnus

Magnus has an even slimmer understanding of humans than ratchet

and, yet again, is extremely busy

he really only picks you up because optimus told him to. not because he doesn’t like you, no, he does, but because he is busy.

reports are constantly being written and missions devised

he’s the type to recommend either 1. being the bigger person, walking away and ignoring it or 2,

fighting them

straight up. he’s a rule follower, but when he eventually hears ratchet talking about it, he sees it in a different light. he would only encourage fighting however, if they’ve attacked you first

so when you step into the cab, clearly roughed up, he already has a question in mind

“Did you win?”

It startles you. “What?”

“Did you win?” Ultra Magnus repeats. “The fight.”

You don’t say anything, and Magnus puffs. He wants to scold you, to ridicule you like a soldier. It’s first instinct to him, but he refrains. For your sake.

His holoform flickers into existence as he reaches the highway, and he reaches over.

“Let me see.”

He holds your face in his hand as he drives, turning you side to side and observing the forming bruises.

“They roughed you up good, huh?” Magnus hums. “You’re tough. You’ll make it.”

You’re not amused, nor has he made you feel better at all. Slapping his hand away, you slump further into your seat and cross your arms.

A silence falls over the cab. Not exactly comfortable, but you don’t really care.

“Do I need to inform June?” He tries again. He does feel bad, but he’s not exactly the talking type. He’s a fighter, built for it and raised in it. But he’s trying, and that’s what matters.

You shake your head, and hum a no.

Another silence, and he glances at your reddened fists.

“How hard’d you hit ‘em?”

This pulls a half smile from you. “Like a truck.”

Ultra Magnus chuckles lightly, “Atta’ girl.”

[slashhinginghasher]

Dog Day Afternoon - Ghoap x reader

I've been binge-reading @ohbo-ohno's blog all day and just had to write a companion piece to their amazing story Don't Leave Me Locked In Your Heart.

No warnings, just fluff, but like, really really stupid fluff.

***

In a normal housing situation, you'd be baffled by how quickly your shampoo tended to disappear. You'd carefully measure how much you used each time, eye every roommate with suspicion when they emerged from the bathroom with wet hair. Maybe you'd even hide the bottle in your room between baths for safe-keeping, or fill an empty bottle with something gross to see who came out covered in a gunky mess.

But you didn't live in a normal housing situation, and you didn't have to wonder where all your shampoo was going because the thieving Scot who took it also made you wash his fucking hair with it. Every. Damn. Time. Sometimes even more than once.

"Can't have me gettin' split ends, bonnie," he said knowledgeably. "No' like Simon over there."

You didn't inform him that washing one's hair multiple times in the shower did not make the shampoo work better. You did not point out that he and Simon, being military, both cut their hair too short and too often for split ends. You didn't even accuse him of only knowing what split ends were because it was written on the shampoo bottle.

No, you kept your thoughts to yourself. Because while Johnny was apparently in possession of mad military skills - including manhandling, referring to Simon by his rank, and probably guns or something - they paled in comparison to his true talent: spouting an endless amount of bullshit at you until you accidentally said something sexual in return, and then taking that as an opening to be actually sexual.

Once, when you were fussing over a blemish forming on your nose, Johnny had sworn that you could contract flesh-eating bacteria and he'd still love you, holes and all. You had been physically incapable of stopping yourself from muttering that his love of your holes was what had gotten you into this situation in the first place. Johnny immediately got an evil gleam in his eye, and Simon had laughed. Out loud. Then they took you to bed for an entire day. Literally a full twenty-four hours. You hadn't been able to walk right for almost a week.

So yeah, you'd learned your lesson and you didn't goad Johnny, even when you had something spectacularly clever to say.

"Think you're a bloody show dog now, Johnny?" Simon rumbled. "Yappin' on about your hair like a damn poodle."

"A poodle!" Johnny shouted, affronted. "Am no fuckin' poodle, LT. Naw." He rubbed his hands together, warming up to the subject. "A german shepherd, maybe. Or a doberman. One a' those fuck-off big boys that makes you piss yerself a little when you get too close. What d'you think, hen?"

Oh, there were so many answers you could give to break this man's ego. Breeds they'd have to look up on google to feel the full impact of your devastating wit. But no, you had to stay strong. You pressed your lips into a tight line and maintained a dignified silence.

"Oi, I'm askin' ye a question."

"You ask me a lot of questions, and almost all of them are stupid."

Johnny looked positively offended.

"They are not stupid!"

"'If a guy was on the moon and he jumped hard enough in the right direction do you think he could launch himself back to earth?'" you quoted. "'Do we say things suit people because suits look good on you or is it called a suit because it suits you?' 'If unicorns were real do you think they'd let people ride them and if they did would you attach the reins to their mouth like a normal horse or would you tie 'em around the horn?'"

"All of which are important questions and not at all stupid!"

"Everything is stupid when you're asking it at 3 am, Johnny!"

Simon's eyes were bouncing between the two of you like a tennis match. He looked like he was having the time of his life (in Simon terms, which meant that one corner of his mouth was turned up in a microscopic smirk).

"I cannae help it that my deepest thoughts come late at night," Johnny said solemnly. "An' you're avoiding the most important question: what dog am I?"

"You're a mutt, Johnny," Simon said. "A scraggly little mutt that's gonna get muzzled if it doesn't learn to stop asking stupid questions when people are tryin' to sleep."

Johnny grinned. You weren't sure if he was the sort of person who could shrug off vitriol from anybody, or if he was so over the moon about Simon that he would preen under any kind of attention he got from him. And the last thing you wanted was to feel bad for either of your captors. But damn, the bigger man could be downright mean sometimes.

"Belgian malinois," you said.

"Come again?"

"Mouthy police dog that starts trembling if you order it to stay still for too long," you clarified.

"Sounds about right," Simon muttered.

Johnny cocked his head, mulling over this with extreme deliberation, before pointing at Simon.

"What about him?"

You considered Simon. Big, scary, unflappable Simon. "Shit your pants if you see him in a dark alley" Simon who could definitely rip your head off your body but also somehow gave the best hugs and turned into a pile of goo if you scratched his head right.

"Caucasian shepherd," you announced. "Also known as the Russian bear dog."

Simon nodded. You were pretty sure he had no idea what kind of dog that was and would have agreed with anything that sounded appropriately large or menacing enough.

"Aw fuck off!" Johnny cried. "How come I've gotta be the vibrating cop dog while he gets to be the fucking bear dog?"

"And that's what you get for askin' stupid questions, mutt."

Johnny huffed and pouted for a moment before turning back to you.

"And you, love? What kinda dog are you?"

"I'm a cat," you replied. "Obviously."

Your stomach dropped as that devious spark kindled in Johnny's eyes.

"Too true, kitty, too true," he purred. "Fancy a bit of a chase?"

How the fuck did he always manage to do that???

[mcdynamite]

mcdynamite's (mc)masterlist

Hello! I finally made a masterlist! This includes the stories I've written both here on Tumblr and on AO3 to make things easier to find. You'll find all of my Steddie and Wolfstar fics listed below, and I will be updating this list as I continue to post more.

Author's favorites are noted with a little 🌟 emoji!

All of the writing I post on here will also be tagged with "#mcdynamite writes" if you want to search for it that way.

(Note: Since I am not currently planning on continuing to write Drarry, my fics for that ship are not on this list, but they are still up on my AO3 account! You can find them here.)

Stranger Things

Steddie

AO3 Fics: 🌟 Made It This Far (T) - 13k

It’s not ideal, keeping these recurrent headaches a secret from all of his friends, and sure, Steve's had his fair share of days where he’s been forced to just work through the pain, but he’s making it work. He’s managing. He’s fine. In which Steve Harrington is determined to suffer his migraines in silence, alone, and Eddie Munson is determined not to let him. Major tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sickfic (sort of), Steve Harrington Gets Migraines Warning(s): past head trauma, Steve's shitty parents

Tumblr Blurbs: Physically affectionate Eddie (tags: getting together, cuddles, first kiss)

Nancy gives Steve a lil nudge (tags: platonic Stancy, pining Steve, getting together, side Ronance)

🌟 Hawkins assistant basketball coach Steve (tags: pining Eddie, Steve being a hot jock, Eddie being horny for jock-mode Steve, getting together)

First "I love you" (tags: established relationship, soft Steddie, cuddles)

🌟 Demisexual Steve (tags: demisexuality, supportive Eddie, soft Steddie; CWs for discussions of sexuality and references to Steve's past sexual relationships)

Sleepy Steve x Bartender Eddie (tags: established relationship, extremely soft, Eddie being a sweetheart, Steve being a needy dork)

Harry Potter

Wolfstar

AO3 Fics: The Scientific Method (E) - 62k

Remus Lupin has been in love with Sirius Black for ages, so when an unexpected opportunity arises for him to have everything he's been dreaming of, he can't possibly say no (even if it's only for one night). After all, it's just an experiment. Nothing really needs to change. Right? In which Remus and Sirius are tragically terrible communicators, Peter just wants to help, and James is forced to reconcile with the fact that his friends may truly be idiots. Major tags: Hogwarts Seventh Year, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication, Sexual Content Warning(s): Sirius's shitty parents, canon-typical werewolf injuries

Until We're Grey and Old (M) - 4.7k

“What on earth are you doing?” Remus asked, a fond, confused smile on his lips. “We’re going outside,” Sirius replied simply, grinning and tugging on Remus’s hand. Remus just laughed, but allowed Sirius to pull him outside and into the rain anyway. “But it’s the middle of the night! And it’s pouring!” he protested with a grin, looking up to the sky as both of them began to feel cool droplets of rain against their skin. It was already soaking through the fabric of Remus’s t-shirt. “I know!” OR Remus has a bad night, and Sirius is determined to turn it around by showing him exactly how loved he is. Major tags: Established Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Fluff Warning(s): N/A

🌟 As the Moon Knows the Stars (T) - 48k

On the day Sirius Black turned seventeen, he had his soulmark removed in order to protect the soulmate he'd never met from the wrath of his own family. In the eight years since, he's managed to make his peace with living the rest of his life without falling in love. Though he mourns his lost soulmate every day, he's confident he made the right choice to protect them, and no one has ever made him question that. Until, of course, Lily Evans brings her childhood friend along for a pub night, and Sirius finds himself utterly enamored with the kind, mysterious stranger. But Remus Lupin surely has a soulmate of his own waiting out there somewhere, and Sirius won't let himself get in the way of that. He just wishes Remus weren't so damn easy to love. Major tags: Soulmates AU, Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies, Slow Burn, Remus Never Went to Hogwarts, Neurodivergent Sirius Warning(s): implied/referenced abuse and homophobia (all takes place in the past and is limited to Sirius's shitty parents)

🌟 Hold Back the River (T) - 3.3k

“There are nights where I don’t really dream, or at least, not that I remember, you know?” Sirius continues. “But I can’t remember the last time I dreamt about something that was good. Something that made me happy.” Remus’s heart beats unsteadily in his chest, because this, strangely enough, is not something he can relate to. Remus does have good dreams, on occasion, and a great many of them feature the boy with whom he is currently sharing a couch. He’s done his best to shove them to the back of his mind, whenever he wakes up from them. He relegates them to that ever-expanding box of Sirius-related memories that would be better off forgotten and moves on, only now… Sirius is right beside him, prodding at the box with long, aristocratic fingers, and Remus can feel the lid beginning to slip. Major tags: Post Prank, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, Forgiveness, First Kiss Warning(s): dealing with the aftermath of The Prank, mentions of Sirius's shitty parents

(everybody here was) someone else before (M) - 13k

“No?” the man said. “And where might this dashing fellow countryman of mine be?” “Right here, actually,” Remus said with a lopsided grin, finally turning to face the newcomer. “I’m Re-” He stopped halfway through his introduction to gape at the man in front of him. His pale skin was littered with tattoos – most of them black as his hair, which fell in waves that just barely touched his slim shoulders – and the grey v-neck tee he wore left little of his toned figure to the imagination. But none of these things were the primary focus of Remus’s attention. That honour would go to the man’s eyes – grey and sparkling with the vivacity of a summer storm, flecked with golds and blues if one only looked closely enough. They were eyes Remus would recognize anywhere. Because Remus had seen them before. OR A chance meeting in Remus's least favorite city on Earth forces him to reckon with the fact that he may never have fallen out of love with an old friend. Major tags: Muggle AU, Childhood Friends Reconnecting, Sexual Tension/Content, Idiots in Love Warning(s): Sirius's shitty parents, mentioned Jegulus

[matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl]

Welcome Home - Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Summary: Okay so I know a handful of people have done this, but I am a sore sucker for hurt Roger.  Roger comes home from their first big tour and he's in pain from the constant physical demand of being a drummer. Also a little bit of angst but mainly fluff then soft smut near the end.

Warnings: Swearing, mention of drugs and alcohol, pain (none inflicted by anybody, but if you are not a fan of reading about people in pain then skip this one), anxiety, smut (penis in vagina sex, riding, dirty talk/mention of masturbation, unprotected sex, no aftercare), note: the smut is fairly vanilla/soft, so if you aren't a fan of having the vagina referred to as a 'cunt' then you're fine to read this.

Word count: 4.1k

Enjoy!

     The crowd which surrounded you was yelling like you had never heard before. You were so proud of the kind of fanbase the band had attracted for themselves. The boys hadn't appeared on stage yet, and you knew all four band members were freaking out. They were about to perform at The Rainbow Theatre in London. Groups like The Who, Genesis, Jimi Hendrix and David Bowie had played there in the past, all people who influenced the guys. You were nervous for them, but you knew they would do excellent.

     Roger sits on a fold-out chair, carefully removing the wraps from his fingers. Luckily his sores had healed since the last show. His back still aches along with involuntary tremors from anxiety. The Rainbow was one of the most famous theatres in London. In their eyes, if you played at The Rainbow, you made it.

     “Have a beer, Roger. Might calm you down,” Brian suggested. “Don’t want a fuckin’ beer,” Roger replied hoarsely. Not only were they about to play in front of a sold-out show of 2,802 people, but the whole set was also going to be broadcasted on The Old Grey Whistle Test and the radio, as well. Beer wasn't going to help the nerves.

     Brian let out a sigh before taking a sip of his Coca-Cola. “Well, at least you have Y/n to watch,” he said. You haven't been able to watch the entire tour while you were stuck at home in London due to work, so you were glad you were able to watch the last show. “That's the worst part,” Roger mutters. “What if I mess up? I’ll humiliate myself in front of her and half of fuckin’ London.”

     “You’ll be fine, Roger. We made plenty of mistakes on stage throughout the tour. And if you make a mistake tonight, who cares? Whos going to notice and print on next week's paper ‘Queens drummer Roger Taylor messed up on stage’?” Brian asks in his fake coach-like tone. “Nobody. And especially not Y/n.

     Roger slowly looks up at Brian, removing his face from his palms. “Youre right,” he says. “Now let's go up on stage,” Brian grins as he gives roger a hand and all four head out of the dressing room.

     You watch as the house lights begin to dim. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as the camera crew and radio men made sure everything was correct. You watch as a man in a white tuxedo comes out onto the stage, it was Bob Harris. You had spoken to him before, he was kind.

     “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Queen!” he says proudly before you hear the familiar sound of Brian's guitar. You were amazed by the show. The use of colourful lights and smoke was perfect. You hadn't seen the boys play on such a big stage like this. You were so proud of them. 

     As the show comes to an end, Brian begins playing strong power cords along with some feedback from the amps. Roger bangs hard on the drums, and you watch as he knocks them over. He furiously throws them off the drum risers, Freddie and John getting out of the way just in the nick of time. That wasn't like him. Sure, he had an anger issue and often had tantrums over things, but he never took things out in front of fans.

     You feed your way through the crowd, finding the side door which was guarded by a crew member. You flash your VIP card at them and you are quickly let in. You are greeted by Freddie cautiously sipping on cold water, while Brian was icing his fingertips. “You guys were great!” you praise them before addressing the situation on stage. “Thank you, my dear,” Freddie replies through gulps. He finishes his cup before he stands up and gives you a hug. “Roger can’t wait to see you,” he tells you. “About Roger. Where is he?” you ask since he wasn't in the dressing room.

     “You saw his little outburst. He might be in the bathroom or one of the dressing rooms down the hall,” he tells you, and you thank him. “Tell me everything about the tour later, I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit!” you say with a smile as you leave the dressing room on the hunt for Roger.

     You pass by his roadie and close friend, Chris “Crystal” Taylor. “Crystal, have you seen Roger?” you ask. “He’s in dressing room five. I tried to talk to him but he told me to leave him alone,” he tells you. “Thanks,” you reply and go down the hall to dressing room five.

     You knock lightly, unconsciously not wanting your knock to sound masculine so you wouldn't be sent away immediately. You hear a groan from the other side of the door. Roger was sat on a small couch, gripping his hair in anger while his feet stomped. He had already disorganized the entire counter along with kicking any piece of furniture he could find. “Roger,” you say as you slowly open the door.

     He perks up at the sound of your voice. “Y/n?” he asks. He stood up, seeing your worried gaze staring back at him. He hugs you with the force of a thousand lost men. “I missed you so much…” he whispered into your ear. His angered and broken voice rang throughout your head, and you hug him back.

     “I’m so sorry. I got angry on stage, and- and I broke the kit, and you had to see me like that,” Roger says. “I was just so nervous about playing in front of everybody, and I didn't want to disappoint you and I did exactly what I was trying not to do,” he whimpered into your neck. All his outward anger was gone. All that was in his heart was remorse.

     “Roger,” you say, taking his cheeks into your palms and looking at him. You use your thumbs to slowly wipe away the tears. “You didn't disappoint me,” you tell him. “You did amazing. I just knew you would,” you smile.

     Roger slowly smiles back at you as tears form in his eyes again. It was so hard to be away from you for so long. His strong and callused hands grip your waist and his shaky breath blew against your lips. He slowly kisses you, tears running down his face as his eyelids meet. You missed his touch. You missed his kisses. You wished that your welcome home to him was under different circumstances. He parts from the kiss, his face returning to the crook of your neck as he begins to cry. You heard his voice breaking as sobs come from him.

     “Baby, why are you crying?” you ask as you gently run your hands through his sweaty hair. “I just missed you so much…” he whispered. “And… and I don’t deserve you…” he confesses. Every day he questions why you haven't left him yet.

     It takes you every ounce of strength in your body not to start crying with him. “Don't say that, my love” you tell him. You place a kiss on his cheek as you feel his shaky grip become tighter around you. You have seen Roger in emotional states like this, but he had never presented himself to be this vulnerable before.

     You bring his gaze to yours, yet again wiping the tears from his eyes. “Let's go home,” you say. “But- the after party,” he says, and you shut him up with a single finger on his lips. “Your well-being is more important than an after-party,”

     After a couple of gentle kisses on the lips and forehead, and two or more tears shed, Roger agrees to go home.

     You arrive home with Roger. He sighs as he enters the apartment, and he slowly removes his shoes and jacket. “Are you hungry? I can order some food if you’d like,” you suggest, and he nods. “Japanese, please,” he says. “I was going to order that. I know it's your favourite,” you smile and give him a soft kiss on the cheek. “You go get changed while I order it,” you tell him. Roger walks off and enters your shared bedroom. He hadn't been there in months. It was exactly as he left it, maybe a bit cleaner, but still the same comforting bedroom.

     He changes into a t-shirt and sweatpants. It had been ages since he wore comfortable clothes. Most nights he ended up sleeping in his leather pants and button-up because he was too exhausted or drunk to change.

     You walk into the bedroom, Japanese food in hand and you see Roger laying stomach-first on the bed. “The food is here,” you tell him as you shake him out of his half-awake state. “Oh,” he says groggily and sits up. He takes his portion of the food and begins eating after he thanked you.

     “Tell me all about the tour,” you tell him with a smile.

     “The fucking tour…” Roger muttered. “I was great and all, but physically it was horrible,”

     “What do you mean?” you ask as you slowly place a hand on his back. Roger hisses as you touch the sensitive muscles on his back. “That-” he says. You frown. “My whole body hurts. My back, my hands, my legs. Pretty sure I sprained my ankle. First I tried painkillers, but they only helped for a bit. I tried drinking, and I tried drugs. It helped for a bit, but when I come down from it everything hurts again. Fuck- jerking off didn't even help. Fred said it would but it didn't,”

     You could hear the pain and frustration in his voice. “Rog, baby, if you were hurting all tour you should have asked to go home early,” you tell him. “I wanted to, believe me, I did. But I couldn't, the band depended on me, just like I depend on them. Plus every show was sold out. I couldn't leave.

     “Why don’t I run you a bath?” you suggest. “The hot water might help ease your muscles, then we can go to bed,” you tell him.

     “You think that will help?” he asks. “It should help your muscles, at least. I’ll bandage your ankle up and if your pain gets any worse we can go to the doctor,” you say. “I’d like a bath, then,” he smiles softly. “Okay,” you tell him and gave him a kiss before you stood up and walked to the bathroom to run the bath.

     About 10 minutes later Roger looks up from his book when you walk into the bedroom. He rips off his reading glasses and puts away the book he was reading. He hated his reading glasses, you loved how they looked. He never believes you, of course.

     “Bath is done,” you tell him. He stands up from the bed and follows you to the bathroom. He sees as you put epsom salt and some bubbles into the water and mix it with your hand. “Thank you, baby,” he smiles and gives you a warm kiss before he undressed and got into the tub. You couldn't help but watch. You hadn't seen him naked in almost 3 months besides the naughty polaroid photos he left behind for you. But, right now was not the time for lust. Your job as his partner was to comfort him.

     Roger hisses as he leans down into the scorching hot water. “Too hot?” you ask worriedly. “Little bit, but that’s probably good,” he says. He slowly adjusts to the temperature and leans his head back onto the cold tile.

     The two of you had shared baths before. Roger had suggested it once a while back as a bonding moment. He made it quite romantic. There were much more bubbles than the current bath, and he poured you both a glass of wine with candles. Even if it felt a bit cheesy, you loved it.

     “I’ll be in the bedroom when you're done,” you tell him and stand up to leave. “Y/n,” he says, grabbing your dry hand with his wet one. “Don’t leave,”

     You look down at him, his wide, remorseful eyes staring back at you. “You're doing all this stuff for me, getting food, running me a bath. If I were you I’d be struggling to keep my hands to myself,” he says. “It's nice to have a welcome home like this, so stay. The last thing I want is to not be able to see you, or hear your voice, or smell you…”

     If you weren't his girlfriend, you’d be creeped out by the last sentence. But you had to admit, you felt the same. Even just a reminiscing smell that was similar to Rogers's cologne or sweat brought you comfort.

     “Okay, I’ll stay,” you smile. You sit down on the floor mat, still holding his hand in yours. “Is the bath helping?” you ask. “A bit. It does feel nice on my muscles,” he replies. “Maybe you could give me a massage after?”

     “Is that an excuse to have my hands all over you?” you tease with a smirk. “Partly,” he grins and gives you a superficial kiss as he purses his lips at you. You laugh and nudge him a bit. “Creep,” you joke. “You can't deny it, you love that creep,” he barks back at you. He always made you blush, even with the simplest of words.

     Roger slowly brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing your hand gently before resting his cheek against it. “I love you…” he whispers. You smile softly. “I love you too,” you whisper back. You lean over, giving him a slow and loving kiss. “Why don't you join me?” he asks, using his hand to tap the water a bit. “I already showered today,” you tease. Roger groans with a smirk. “You always play hard to get,” he chuckles.

     Roger stayed in the tub for almost forty-five minutes before he gave you the queue he was ready to get out. You handed him a towel and he wrapped it around his waist. “Don't forget that massage,” he grins. “Don’t worry, I didn't,” you giggle. He was always so needed sometimes.

     You lead him back to the bedroom once you grabbed the massage oil from under the bathroom sink. He lays down on the bed, taking off his towel as he did. You could feel the smirk on his face. “Cover your arse,” you tell him, even if it was cute. “You're no fun,” he laughs and puts the towel back on.

     You put the tiniest amount of oil on your hands, rub it between your palms to warm the liquid before gently rubbing it up and down Roger's back. “Where does it hurt, baby?” you ask. “My upper back, near my shoulders, and my spine,” Roger says while burying his face into his arms. You begin kneading his shoulders, digging your thumbs into his muscles. “Fuck-” he groans. “Hurts?” you ask. “Yes,” he mutters. “Sorry,” you reply, placing a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. “It's okay.”

     You knead his muscles slower, adding less pressure so you could ease him onto it. You worked on one section, and once Roger gave you the okay, you added a bit more pressure, and then more after. He groans again as you push harder. “I’m sorry,” you say. “No- no, keep going,” he whispers. “Fuck-” he growled.

     It felt so good but hurt at the same time. “You’re great with your hands, Y/n,” he tells you. “In multiple ways,” he smirks. “Oh shut the fuck up,” you laugh.

     After half an hour or so of massaging, you were finally done, and by the time you had finished, Roger was almost asleep. “You’re done, love,” you whisper to him with a gentle kiss on his cheek. That was able to wake him up from his light sleep. “Thank you, babe…” he mumbled as he pushed himself up. He sighs as he moves his spine. “It feels much better,” he smiles, and you smile back at him. “I’m glad it does,” you tell him, and give him a kiss on the lips.

     Roger sits up, taking the towel from his behind and wrapping it around his waist once again. “You know,” he says, looking over at the clock on your nightstand. “The night isn't over yet,” he smirks. You knew exactly what he meant. “You're right, it isn't,” you say. “I have another welcome home gift for you,” you hum before you kiss him. It was gentle and soft. You always played hard to get with him, even if Roger acted as if he hated it, it made the night feel even more erotic.

     Rogers' hands make their way to your waist, gripping your shirt before they venture under the fabric. “Somebody is needy,” you tease. “I haven't seen you… in months. Of course, I'm needy,” he says between kisses. You shiver at his touch. Even if you loved teasing him, you couldn't resist him either.

     Your hands run down his bare chest as the kiss becomes more sensual. Roger was always the first one to use his tongue, and you didn't mind, especially right now. “You know,” you begin through a small moment of a parting of your lips. “When you were gone…” you whisper, trailing your kisses down his neck to suck hot sores onto his skin. “I used to ride my pillow… pretending it was you,”

     Shivers went through Roger's body as you spoke. He held back a moan, letting out a soft groan instead. “Yeah? What other dirty things did you do while I was gone?” he asks against your ear while his hands tried to undress you. “I’d moan your name as if you were in the room,” you tell him, letting the lewd noises of your wet kisses echo through his ears. “I’d touch myself in the shower and pretend it's your hand…” you whisper. “I’d even go as far as touching myself while reading your interviews in magazines,”

     “Fuck…” Roger whimpered. He was already hard as a rock at the thought of you doing all those outlandish things just because you missed him. “Well, the real thing is here, now. No need to pretend,” he hummed. He takes off your shirt and shudders as he cups your bra. He bit his lip at the sight of your breasts. He had looked at them in the dirty polaroid you gave him, but finally seeing them in person, even with a bra, felt so rewarding. “I need you, baby…” he whispered.

     You push him down onto the bed. You were much more forceful than you had ever been. “I love when you beg,” you grinned. You begin undoing your pants after Rogers's many failed attempts. “Please…” he whimpered. “I jerked off almost every night to that little sexy photo I have of you… just wasn't the same-” he says breathily.

     Once your pants were off, which felt like forever for Roger, you straddle his hips. He hisses as your panties rub against his cock. “Baby- please…” he begs. “Please, what?” you ask in your menacing teasing tone. “Please fuck me,” Roger says. He wasn't afraid to beg. If he had to beg you to get what he wanted, he would. You grin. You slowly remove your underwear and toss them to the side. It took every ounce of strength in Roger's body not to grab your panties and smell them.

     You lift your hips, letting his tip run through your folds. You were already soaking wet for him. “Shit-” Roger mutters. His tip twitched against your wetness. You reach behind yourself, slowly unclipping your bra and sliding it off. The desperate and amazed look on Roger's face almost made you laugh. He looked like a child in a candy store. Rogers' shaky hands reach up to gently cup your breasts. His thumbs run over your nipples and he watches as they become pointy in his hold.

     “Are you ready?” You ask in a similar fashion to how he asked you the first time you had sex. “I’ve been ready,” he huffs. You smirk at the desperate look on his face. You feel Roger's hands slowly run down to your hips, ready in position to help guide you. You slowly sink down onto his cock once you aligned his tip with your entrance. You let out a whine as he finally goes inside you. You have used dildos occasionally while he was gone, but it never felt the same.

     “Fuck, baby…” Roger groaned as you squeeze around his length. His hands grip your waist, knuckles on the verge of going white. His hands and your body begin to move in unison. “Oh, Roger…” you whisper between soft moans. Your hips slowly move up and hit down onto Roger's pelvis. The first bounce of many made you whine and made Roger bite back a moan.

     “Faster…” Roger begs quietly, and you comply. You needed to be faster, you needed him. His hands helped your hips move as you rode him. You were weak with arousal, and it took great strength to move your hips.

     Every movement sent waves through your body, rewarding Roger with the sound of your sweet moans every time his cock hit just the right spot inside you. “You feel so good, baby…” Roger whispers before letting out a groan. His head was swimming. Every time he watched the way your breasts moved with your hips, or how his cock disappeared inside of you, he moaned almost femininely.

     By now, you were bouncing on Roger like it was your last day on Earth. And your moans were erotically loud. Roger shouted obscenities that would have his mother fuming from the unholy words, but neither of you cared. You needed each other more than you needed air. You needed each other's body and soul. You knew that after this night, not only would you both be sore, but you would have an angry note from your elderly neighbour the next morning.

     “Babe- fuck, I’m close…!” you moan. Your face was unpleasing to you, with your eyebrows scrunched together and your mouth hanging open. Roger loved the sight, but, he could barely look because he was engulfed in pleasure. It was a strain to open his eyes.

     “Cum for me, love,” Roger tells you. “Cum,” he repeats. You couldn't feel your body besides the constant pleasuring feeling of Rogers' length plunging in and out of you. You had lost full control of your hips, but the rewarding feeling was too strong to stop. “Cum all over my cock,” it was so erotic to say something like that, although it wasn't the worst of the dirty talk that Roger had in store. But, it was enough for you to finally go over the edge.

     You moan loudly as Roger's cock hits just the right spot, and you tighten around him. “Fuck!” you moan, along with multiple other forms of The Lord's name used in vain. Roger groans as your walls squeeze around his length. “Y/n…!” he moaned before his cum spewed into you. You were both wet and sticky with each other's arousal. It felt disgusting but you loved it.

     Roger pulled you against his chest, groaning into your neck as he gripped your hair. His arms were around you in a bear hug, chest heaving against yours with a silent promise to never let you go.

     “Rog…” you whisper. Roger took a moment to answer, he could hardly breathe. “Y-yes?” he asks. “I love you…” that made him smile. “I love you, too…” he whispers back.

     You didn't dare to move, and neither did Roger. “I don't have it in me for a second round, baby…” you whisper. “It's okay, me either,” he huffs. You slowly lift your head from the crook of his neck, you see the weak smile on his lips and you couldn't help but smile back. You kiss him, gently like before. “Want me to-” he hisses as you slowly lift your hips, removing his length from your pussy. “Want me to clean you up?” he asks.

     You shake your head. “No,” you tell him. You roll over, resting your head in your hand as your look at him. Roger's hand gently caresses your cheek, twirling a strand or two of hair around his finger. You noticed the sores on his fingers where calluses usually were, but you didn't comment on it.

      You were so beautiful, sometimes he didn't believe that you were his. He often questioned his religion because of you. He didn't understand how he could be given such a goddess-like being like yourself without the help of some higher deity to bless him with such a gift.

     “Now can you tell me about the tour?” you ask, and he smiles. “Sure,” he says, and he began rambling on about the great time he had in America, leaving out the parts about his pain. You had helped him with his wounds, and he finally felt at peace again.

[punemy-spotted]

Iris - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie

Pairing: SoftDark!Devil!Helmut Zemo x Sky-Captain!Reader

Warnings: Cosmic Horror; Dubious Consent; Dubious Morality; Estranged Relationship; Zemo and Reader are not in the Good Place; THIS IS A HORROR FIC; Soul Stealing; Incredibly Loose Relationship with Physics; This is a Fallen London x Marvel Crossover Moment; There are Space Bees; And Giant Lovestruck Space Crabs; Violence; Murder; Death; Poison; At Least One Reference to a Garrote; Estranged Relationship; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: Sokovia rose, then fell, and then rose again. And now the stars will never be the same.

Notes: Hi, welcome, I really wanted to write an MCU crossover with the Fallen London 'verse so here we are. Imagine House of M except Wanda Maximoff became an actual factual God and it actually wasn't that bad after all. And now imagine all of that is background noise in favor of one unhinged Devil and one overly hinged Epistolarian. An Intrepid Epistolarian.

Oh also Wanda's waging war against Queen Victoria. It's fine.

For those of you who have read my other Zemo fics, finished and unfinished, if you notice similarities between this fic and the other ones... yes. I am Frankenstein trying to raise this fanfiction monster and put scenes, passages, and themes to better use than languishing in my Ao3/Tumblr cupboard. (Also if you've read my other fics, hi, hello, I love you.)

I crave feedback, so tell me what you think!

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

The First taught Restraint, and the Second Betrayed. The Third taught us Hunger and the Fourth we Remade. The Fifth will live on in the Heart of the Sun but the Sixth did quickly Fade. The Seventh City will never Fall, never ending the Deal we made.

She kept some of the old names when she took this place, you know. Built onto it, even when her Renewed Empress had to bend the knee to the Scarlet One, sealed away in her undying mausoleum.

The Proclaimers of the Cult of the Sanctified, still seated at the Avid Horizon’s High Gate and whispering Truths to their counterparts on the other side, were right — the Seventh City would never fall; the Bazaar would never be compelled to deliver that fatal missive to that Beacon of Bright Betrayal it loved so much; there would be no opportunity to argue that Seven Cities worth of love is proof enough of Her Worthy Love.

If there is one thing you know about opportunities, it is that they are also opportunities to fail.

The long tradition of the Duchy of Sokovia — that Bulwark which once stood the test of time against even the Tsars of Russia — is not what it once was. There is, in fact, no such thing as Sokovia now, not the way you would think. There are Sokovian people, clinging to an identity lest it be lost in the abyss below, but all that remains of the Earthly land which remembered the Duchy’s history with the joint Empires of Austria and Hungary is now nothing more than a chasm of stone and steel.

A monument to violent delights in want of violent ends.

Cast your eyes not to the ruins of her past but to the gleaming future written in the stars ab—

The sound of a train whistle drowns out what remains of the tinned announcement, an earsplitting shriek you endure for what feels like forever, but is in fact — if the clock before you is accurate — no more than two minutes. Which — as it turns out — is plenty of time to interrupt the announcement’s conclusion and leave ringing silence in its wake.

Good. You were rather tired of hearing your own voice drone on any longer.

You turn your head away from the train schedule you had previously been pretending to occupy your mind with, watching the rails with mild impatience and fidgeting with your gloves.

He is late.

It’s not abnormal, really, for the more independent locomotives — those not on the Scarlet Empress’s own payroll, that is — to run on their own definition of time, but you’ve never known your contact to be anything more than a man of his word.

When you’ve properly interpreted his words, that is.

No matter. You have the luxury of time. Collecting your luggage takes little effort — a rather bulging handbag and a briefcase is not so terrible compared to the crates of fuel, souls, and hours you see being carted around you — as you step briskly towards the more busting central parts of port. The station itself has seen better days, almost empty save for a handful of dock-workers and the occasional Employee making sure the schedule runs on time, but as you pass through an open archway into the city proper, they seem eager to resume whatever activity they might otherwise have abandoned for your intrusive presence.

NORTH.

How did it happen? Was it prophecy — or maybe some mad interpretation of the scream-whispers of Distant Polythreme, a vision of the Garden — that led the Proclaimers to make their rhyme, completing the riddle and speaking for the Masters themselves?

Something must have rung true to the Masters, for them to solve the riddle.

Novi Grad rose, then fell. Fell until it could fall no further, until there was nothing left of decades of history but ash and blood for the ghosts of her denizens to wander through. Until there was nothing for the Masters and their bats to drag to cavernous depths.

So she, in her infinite tragedy and infinite pain, became the solution.

Your tea, madame. You look up from your scribbling absently, glancing briefly up at the server and then feeling your polite smile immediately fade off your face.

Must you always play games?

Helmut Zemo stands before you with a perfectly placid smile on his cruelly handsome face, So lovely to see you again, sweetling, and you’re quite welcome for the tea.

You narrowly avoid the temptation to roll your eyes, closing your journal and placing the cap on your pen, its nib glimmering venomously in the candlelight, You are late. A casual accusation, one he dismisses with an easy wave of his hand, just before seating himself before you and stealing a biscuit from your place.

And you are impatient. Surely this must mean you have missed me, little bird. If he notices the way you flinch at the sweetname, struggling to compose yourself before you manage to settle on sternness, he does not say.

You have faced worse things than Helmut Zemo, you know. Worse than the ache that slices through your heart when you look at him and his easy smile, the one you might have fallen in love with once again, if you forgot yourself.

You will not.

Instead, you breathe, letting the heavy air in your lungs out slowly as you tug the fingers of your glove until the whole thing is loose enough to be removed entirely.

You always hated getting biscuit crumbs on your whisper-satin fineries.

You asked me to meet you here, Helmut, a fact which he seems to dismiss with another too-sharp smile, eyes flickering over you.

It burns. Licking over the neckline of your dress before moving down to the delicate pearl buttons that hold shut your bodice, heat rising over the thin lace collar wrapped around your throat, and you wonder idly how often he fines pleasure in watching people struggle to breathe and die.

I’m told you have been busy, he tells you flatly, practiced hand snapping his biscuit in half before dipping one perfect semi-circle into the cup of tea he’d placed in front of you, Too busy, it seems, to inform your husband of your whereabouts.

The knifeblade edge of his voice is enough, slipping past the plates of armor you always try to wrap around yourself every time you agree to meet him, his joyless smile the barbs he leaves in your heart, ensuring it will bleed for him for a few months more after your eventual parting.

The first time he’d touched your cheek in the shadow of a clockwork sun while you wept, his lips ghosting  your skin, you nearly fell to your knees at his feet.

That should have been the last time you would ever see him, as he whispered sweet nothings and sweeter promises in a language you did not speak, burning intention into your skin and leaving you forever bound, words falling from his lips like a waterfall.

The third time you met Helmut Zemo, you cried. And the fourth. And the fifth.

You refuse to meet his eyes, smoothing out the wrinkles in your gown with trembling hands, Is this what you came to remind me?

He does not stop smiling, even as you make note of the uneasy tension sitting on his shoulders, the vicious gleam in his eyes as he continues his visual examination of your countenance, tea soaked biscuit melting idly on his tongue.

Yes, it is.

You should be grateful for his honesty — Devils rarely are, after all.

He continues before you have a chance to consider it, How much farther do you plan to run from this place, sweetling, before time returns you back to me?

You wish he wouldn’t call you sweetling.

You haven’t been sweet in a thousand years.

But that’s beside the point, isn’t it? He already knows that, anyway.

Though you suppose that maybe you ought to tell him about something he doesn’t know.

Why did you call me here, Helmut?

Why does any man call his wife back to the port where they parted last? I missed you.

You swallow thickly, avoiding the unyielding blade of his sharp-eyed gaze and even sharper smile, refusing to let your heart leap out to him as it aches to do, You are lying, Helmut, you accuse, pretending to busy yourself with the biscuits he brought to your table.

As always, as you should have expected, he only grins at you — a cruel, twisted grimace that makes your stomach twist not-wholly-unpleasantly — before reaching out and brushing his knuckles over your cheek, Would you let me lie, little bird?

I certainly hope you don’t expect an honest answer to that question.

His laugh is as sharp as his smile, a huff of bemusement you recall bringing you happiness before, a long time ago.

Now it reminds you of the taste of poison, of bile curling in the back of your throat, of blood and metal and the screaming agony of time stretched to its very limit.

The silence too, stretches between you, taut as the wires you would wrap around your palms to cut through cheese and impertinent throats, waiting for you to finally surrender and rise to your feet, gather your things and bid him as formal a goodbye as you’ll allow yourself — always just out of reach, I have no intention of playing games, Helmut, you challenge with the same tone of voice you might use to scold the Empress’s misbehaving sons, If you refuse to do me the courtesy of your honest, then do me the gift of your absence.

He watches you, eyes glimmering amber with insult, but does not dishonor you enough to reach out, There was a time, little bird, when you loved me without such reservation.

The words burn across your skin like living fire, your vows and his molded together in a single remembered sigil, a bond forced with the very language of Judgment, unbidden agony scorching your composure as you make a desperate, futile attempt to push away the memory; his voice soft, the low timbre of his accent sliding over your ears like honey in your mouth, gentle lips on yours as he sealed your fate with a kiss, I have memorized you like a prayer.

You could almost have forgotten he was a liar, standing lost in your memories as you are, forgotten the price of promise and the weight of truth.

Almost.

The tears burn at the backs of your eyes, but you blink them back, let bone grind against bone before, More fool I, then, for thinking you did the same.

You turn to walk towards the door, four sovereigns in hand to pay for your meal — interrupted though it has been — making a concentrated effort to not look back, even as you hear his voice cutting through the otherwise silent room, When everything goes wrong, it is a terrible burden to bear alone, don’t you think?

You cannot help yourself, can you? Shoulders slumping as you declare a reluctant defeat and turn to face him, swearing your heart has lit aflame.

You cannot ignore His Law forever, little bird.

You know nothing of responsibility, Helmut, your voice is cold as the icy expanse beyond the warm walls of Novi Grad station, still aching to leave and frustrated by your uncooperative feet.

There’s a twitch at the corner of his lips, amusement sparking in his own eyes, And what of you, little bird, what have you learned of responsibility since your escape from Perdurance?

You visibly flinch, the name sparking an endless array of horror and memories within you, just as his expression falls into uncharacteristic regret.

Nothing, clearly, you reply hollowly, words bitter on the back of your teeth, Much to your pleasure, I think.

That wounds him, to your surprise, hurt painting his face before he controls his features and buries both regret and rage beneath a placid mask, Infinite freedom is as tight a prison as an opulent cage, on occasion.

[silverbladexyz]

hello!!! I'd like to request some hcs for my believed Ayatsuji Yukito with a gn!reader who's not very good in things related to calculations, chem and all that but very well versed in creatives fields? like plays instruments, draws a lot and knows a lot of literary references :D thank u sm and have a nice day keke

Helloooooo!!! Reader is kind of like me; while calculations and chemistry and anything to do with maths is doable, I'm actually more of a creative person lmao.

The image used is not mine. It belongs to it's original owner.

TW: None

Ayatsuji with a GN!S/O who is well versed in creative fields

-Okay, well Ayatsuji teased you a lot at first about maths, science, just anything in that field which requires the left side of the brain

-Like he knows that he's smarter than most people, but he's never met a person who couldn't find the integral of 1/2x^2. Sometimes he wonders if he should get a tutor for you

-But one day you actually helped him solve a case, despite his impressions of you. Ayatsuji was ready to tear his hair out because he just couldn't get an impression of the perpetrator, but you actually managed to draw a very vivid and accurate picture of the perpetrator according to the witness's descriptions and clues

-This caused Ayatsuji to think twice of you. You'll find that after a little while, he would start asking you for your help on his cases. Your drawings were always accurate and never failed to help him catch the murderer. It wasn't long before he fell for your creative side

-When you two got into a relationship, he was curious about your creativeness, and often asked you about your hobbies. I feel like Ayatsuji is one to appreciate art and artistic talents, but he's never had that much time to admire art in general because of his occupation

-Play some pieces for him on your instruments! Doesn't matter if it's a Bach fugue or a nocturne by Chopin, Ayatsuji will love it, because he seems like the type to like classical music as it's more complex and fun to analyse. He likes listening to you play in silence, while sipping a coffee or gazing at the sunset. You even offered to teach him how to play your instruments, and he took you up on your offer, but he still prefers listening to you play

-I feel like Ayatsuji finds the trait of using literary references in appropriate places attractive. Like it makes the person seem more fancy and sophisticated, and he definitely likes people like that. So he might even have a battle of literary references with you sometimes just to see how much you knew actually he does that because he thinks your smexy when you’re saying them

-Also likes to look at your drawings when you’re done with them. Now he will actually critique them a bit, but he mostly praises you and tells you what a good job you’ve done. You drew him once and now Ayatsuji treasures that drawing forever

-Since you’re creative, Ayatsuji is so going to make dolls with you. Now you actually add some extra decorations and style to the dolls that you create, and it’s a fresh contrast to the usual dolls that are stored in his basement. He loves your creativeness when it comes to dolls, and he shows it to nobody else apart from himself

-Now he will actually try to teach you math, science, physics, just anything that needs logic to figure the answer out. While he will still tease you every now and then, he’ll be chill and find out how you learn the best. Also gives you breaks when he sees your brain about to explode from all the calculations

-Your strengths fit with his perfectly; him being logical and you being creative. With this mix, no criminal dares to go up against you two now. Talk about a soft power couple, am I right?

-You two are Tsujimura’s OTP and she is already making all the wedding cards and organisation for your marriage with Ayatsuji already invite me please

@pixyys @pianotross @nekokinax @i-just-like-goats @xxelfmamaxx @yuugen-benni @yukitomybeloved @sariel626 @lakeside-paradise @arisu-chan4646  @catzlivedforbsd

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Denial

Word count: 1,900

Pairing: Loki x reader (platonic)

Reader pronouns: none used (gender neutral)

Warnings: fluff; mostly tickles. Softer Loki (though he tries to hide it)

I know @duckynugget and @crimson25 are looking forward to this one being posted - so, here it is!

This request Prompt asked for a fic where Loki is ticklish but reader is not. I also made the reader gender neutral by request. I kept this one on the shorter side as well, since the next prompt will likely lead to a lengthy story.

"I'll remind you, mortal - I reserve the right to change my mind about consenting to this at any moment."

"Yeah, yeah. Now sit."

Loki rolled his eyes dramatically, sitting down on the floor in front of you with a huff. You grinned behind his back as you shifted your seat forward a bit on the sofa. After being friends for so long, you knew Loki well enough to understand that his outward annoyance at any sort of physical or verbal affection was all a ruse. As tough as he was on the outside, you knew deep down he secretly enjoyed being cared for.

"Ok - now sit still. I need to concentrate on what I'm doing."

"Have you ever done this before?"

"I already told you - I tried it on Natasha, but she wouldn't sit still for longer than five minutes. Always has to be doing something..." You grasped his shoulders and turned his upper body to sit straighter against the front of the sofa.

"Well - do heed caution. My hair is not to be trifled with," he muttered.

"You Asgardians have such a thing about your hair. It's so funny."

"We simply care about how we present ourselves. Unlike many of you mortals on this planet." Loki twitched in surprise as you began to separate a section of his hair, your finger dragging along the back of his head.

"Hey! I like to think I put an adequate amount of effort into my appearance."

"Well - I wasn't referring to you, obviously."

You smiled. Loki wasn't the most forthcoming with complements, but you knew he had a soft spot for you. He held you on a higher pedestal than he did other humans, though he'd never straight out admit it.

His posture slowly relaxed as you ran your fingers through his hair, meticulously measuring out equal sections of his dark locks before twisting them together into a braid. You were silent as you devoted your full concentration to the task at hand, and Loki seemed content with the lack of conversation.

“Doing alright there, Loki?” you asked after the silence had persisted for a few minutes, leaning forward to see his face. You just caught sight of his eyes closed before he startled, opening them to glare at you.

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on not tying knots in my hair?” he muttered.

“Were you falling asleep? That’s cute.”

Loki opened his mouth to respond, no doubt with some indignant denial of the truth, but you silenced him by running your fingers through his hair. “Hmph,” was all he could seem to muster. You chuckled as you sat back, returning to focusing on weaving braids into his dark locks, taking your time with each twist now that you knew he was enjoying the attention.

After pausing, undoing and restarting the first braid multiple times to really get it right, you were finally nearly finished completing one. Suddenly, Loki flinched, tugging the braid from between your fingers.

“What was that for?? Now I have to start it over again,” you whined as the strands of the braid unwound a bit at the bottom.

“My apologies - you were taking so damned long I thought perhaps you’d finished that one already,” he grumbled in response. There was an unusual finality in his tone, as though he didn’t want you to keep asking about it.

“So you just twist your head and pull it out of my hands? I thought you were concerned about how I was making your hair look. Why risk messing me up?”

“Just… go back and start it over again. I’ll hold still.”

“Hmm. Fine. But this time I’ll tell you when you can move, ok?”

You knew something odd was going on. Loki had previously been melting against the sofa as you manipulated his hair, but suddenly he seemed to have a steel rod in his back, sitting perfectly straight and stiff. Had you hurt him by tugging too hard? That was certainly something he wouldn’t want to admit. Then again, he wouldn’t have passed up the chance to scold you and pretend as though he wasn’t enjoying every second of this. In any case, you were careful not to pull as you re-wove the braid.

As you twisted the last couple inches into place, Loki suddenly flinched once again. This time, he shrugged his shoulder up toward his ear in the process.

And suddenly, it clicked.

“Loki! You messed it up again!” you whined, fluttering your fingertips along the side of his neck more intentionally. He let out a breathy laugh through his nose this time, leaning away from your fingers. “I didn’t know gods were so ticklish!”

“Mortal… I suggest you tread carefully with this information,” he growled ominously, turning his head to look at you.

“Ooh, calling me ‘mortal’ now, are you? I must be in trouble.” You reached around with your other hand to dust your fingers just below his other ear.

“I-hi’m warning you!” He reached up to grasp the wrist of the offending hand, holding it away from his neck. You smirked, swiftly reaching down to pinch his ribs and earning a yelp of surprise. “Alright, that’s it.”

“What are you gonna do?” you sassed. He rose to his feet and spun around in one quick motion, grasping hold of your other wrist and pushing you down against the sofa.

“Still think it was wise to antagonize me?” Loki hovered over you, pinning your wrists to the sofa beside your head. Unfazed, you grinned up at the looming god.

“Go ahead. I’m not ticklish.”

He squinted down at you, leaning closer to your face for dramatic effect.

“I don’t believe you.”

With that, he released both wrists and latched his hands to your sides, kneading rapidly. You stared up at him with the sly smirk still drawn across your face, not reacting in any way to his touch. His brow furrowed as his hands ascended your ribcage, prodding into the crevices, testing every space for a reaction.

“Told you,” you taunted, lacing your fingers behind your head.

“You… I still don’t believe you! You must be ticklish somewhere!”

“Go ahead and try. I won’t stop you.”

His frustration bloomed on his face as he scribbled under your arms, clawed at your belly, grazed his fingertips along your neck… anything he could think of to make you flinch and laugh. You even allowed him to take your foot in his lap and scratch at the fabric of your sock unhindered, sighing tediously as he wriggled his fingers under your toes and dusted them along the arches.

“It’s not possible. I don’t believe you.”

“What more proof do you need?” you laughed, carefully removing your foot from his lap to avoid him thinking it was reflex. “What I don’t believe is how ticklish you are.” You reached out and pinched his side rapidly to emphasize. He barked out a laugh, leaning involuntarily away from you.

“You… you are infuriating!” he griped, making no move to stand from his seat.

“Oh, stop complaining, grumpy. You’re just mad that I finally have something I can hold over you.” You shifted to kneel closer to him, diving in with both hands latched to his ribcage. This really got him laughing, so you couldn’t bear to stop, digging gently in between the bones as he squirmed under your touch.

“M-eheh-MORTAL!”

“Yes?” You gave him an innocent, questioning look as you continued to torment his ribs. His muscles seemed to weaken as you neared the softer space under his arms. He certainly wasn’t fighting you very hard, considering he was an almighty god.

“Dohon’t you DAHARE even c-eheh-CONSIDER moving ahany higher,” he demanded through bright laughter.

“Why not? Too ticklish?” You slotted your hands beneath his arms - a surprisingly simple task considering how concerned he seemed to be about you tickling him there. He threw his head back, overcome by hysterics. Laughing yourself at his reaction, you wriggled your fingers into the soft skin through his shirt without relenting. His hands clasped around your wrists, weakly pushing at them but without nearly enough force to actually succeed in moving your hands. There was a redness blossoming in his cheeks, lighting up his face more than you’d ever seen in the sullen god.

It was then you realized - he didn’t actually mind this. In fact, he seemed to welcome it.

It made sense in a way, you supposed. Deep down, you knew your friend craved physical interaction despite the fact he pretended not to want anyone to so much as touch him. His prickly outer shell prevented him from getting close enough to anyone that they would want to try to initiate physical contact. It just so happened that you had been stubborn enough to stick around long enough to break through his protective shell.

You also knew he’d be mortified if you even suggested that he may be enjoying your tickle attack. So, you filed it away in your memory and kept it to yourself, not wanting to spoil this playful little game between you and your best friend.

As his face turned redder, you shifted to claw into his belly. His laughter decreased in volume, spilling out in uncharacteristic, adorable giggles.

“Now that’s cute,” you cooed, ghosting your fingers along the sides of his belly.

“Hohow dare yohou i-hi-insult me-hee!” he retorted.

“It’s not an insult, it’s just facts!” you teased, spidering your fingers outward to his sides. His laughter died down as you slowed your torment, with only the occasional twitch of his abdomen and accompanying breathy laugh. When you finally ceased, he sat motionless for a moment, gasping to catch his breath.

“I will get revenge for this,” he growled threateningly through his persistent ticklish smile. “Somehow.”

“Good luck with that,” you shrugged, patting him on the knee. “You gonna let me finish practicing my braiding now?”

“After you just tortured me?? You think I will allow you to continue messing with my hair?”

You folded your arms across your chest, sitting back as you gazed firmly at your companion. “Hey - in all fairness, you messed up my braids twice. I was technically getting my revenge by tickling you senseless.”

An unmistakable pink hue tinted his cheeks. “You… I… fine. But be more careful this time.”

“Sure, yeah, yeah. Now sit on the floor again.”

Mumbling incomprehensible threats under his breath, Loki slid off the sofa and took his seat on the floor in front of you once again. You chuckled to yourself, knowing very well that Loki - God of Mischief - never does anything he doesn’t want to do. And the fact that he leaned more heavily against your shins as you began lacing your fingers through his hair once again only served to prove what you already knew.

Someday, perhaps, he would be willing to admit he actually appreciates physical affection. Until then, you’d just have to ‘convince’ him to allow it from time to time, as though he was appeasing you.

And when you snuck in little squeezes to his sides or flutters behind his ears as you continued to braid his hair, he certainly wasn’t trying very hard to stop you.

[evieismol]

Told yall i was gonna get on the fandom g/t content and here we are, criminal minds g/t oneshot written and 3am and not edited once

Cw: brief references to violent crimes having happened/an abduction, cursing

—

Derek Morgan was no stranger to confusing, bizarre, and downright terrifying situations. His line of work pretty much guaranteed that. He wasn’t so arrogant as to think he’d seen it all - the endless horrific crime scenes he’d witnessed had already shown him that there was practically no end to the depths of depravity that the human mind could sink to. This…situation, though, was something different. Mostly because it wasn’t possible.

Or at least, it shouldn’t be possible, though the fact that he was currently experiencing it seemed to suggest otherwise.

Maybe I’ve been drugged? There were plenty of issues with that theory. Say, how his teammates were also staring up at their surroundings with wide, confused eyes, and he was pretty sure drugs didn’t usually cause group hallucinations. Most of his teammates, anyways. Prentiss and Reid were nowhere to be seen, which made sense, given that they’d gone to check the basement. And of course, Garcia was back in her office at Quantico.

That left Hotch, Rossi, and JJ standing beside Morgan. Various degrees of confusion, disbelief, and concern covered their faces. Morgan ended up being the first to break the silence.

“So, you’re all seeing this, right?”

“I’m not sure what I’m seeing,” was Rossi’s reply.

That was fair - Morgan wasn’t really sure either. He tried to reply the last few moments in his mind, in hopes of making sense of what had just happened. They’d arrested the unsub, and hurried to the abandoned building he’d been holed up in in hopes of finding his latest victim still alive. Everything had been pretty normal at that point. As normal as this job ever was, anyways. Reid and Prentiss had gone to the basement, he and Rossi had searched the main level, and JJ and Hotch went to search the upper floor.

After failing to find anything up there, they’d returned and met up with him and Rossi. They’d been preparing to make their way down to the basement when there’d been a bright flash of light. Bright enough to entirely disorient Morgan. When his vision finally cleared, he’d been presented with the scene in front of him. At first glance, he and the others were standing in the same hallway they’d previously been in. The same old table lay against the wall nearby, turned on it’s side. The same cold fluorescent lights flickered above. Their location didn’t seem to have changed.

No, what had changed was something else entirely different. It was the same hallway, but it was also now gigantic. Everything was. The upturned table that hadn’t even reached Morgan’s waist before now towered over them, easily the height of a several story building. The previously barely noticeable cracks that lined the floor were now full on crevices.

“We’re small.” JJ put into words what Morgan was sure the rest of the team was also thinking.

“That’s not possible,” Morgan replied. He didn’t know that much about physics, but he knew enough to be sure that buildings couldn’t just grow. Or people shrink, or whatever had happened.

“Regardless of what’s possible or not, we need to figure out where we are, get somewhere safe, and try to find Reid and Prentiss. Is anyone’s radio working?” Hotch’s face was as neutral as ever, and Morgan found himself grateful for a voice of reason in what felt like an otherwise unreasonable situation. The three of them nodded, checking their radios. They hadn’t been working earlier - something about the cement walls, Reid had started to explain - and it seemed their luck still hadn’t changed.

“Nothing here,” Rossi said. Hotch frowned.

“Alright. Well, that desk over there offers more cover than standing out in the open. I say we-“

Hotch was cut off by a loud, echoing, booming noise. One that was drawing closer. Morgan felt his blood run cold.

“Guys, what’s that?”

“I don’t think I want to wait around to find out,” Rossi said. “Desk, now.”

The four of them took off running for the desk. A distance that had also grown sunstantially. They reached it, climbing over the metal leg that lay against the floor. A metal leg that had previously only been an inch or so in diameter, and was now nearly up to Morgan’s knees. He hopped down on the otherside, joining the others in pressing themselves against the underside of the desk. With the way it lay on its side, it worked almost as a wall in front of them. The booming was still growing louder.

“What is that?” JJ whispered. They didn’t have to wait long to find out, as it turned out, for seconds later, a figure came around the corner at the end of the hallway.

It was Reid. At least, it looked like Reid, except for the same not so insignificant change that their surroundings had also experienced. Morgan felt his mouth drop open. Reid was usually about Morgan’s height. Maybe an inch or so taller. Definitely not dozens of feet taller. Definitely not practically Godzilla-sized. If Morgan had been confused before, he was entirely shocked now.

He managed to tear his eyes away from the giant figure for a second to glance at the others. Even Hotch’s usually neutral face betrayed a look of disbelief, his eyes ever so slightly wider than usual.

“What the hell,” Rossi muttered.

“Hotch? JJ? Morgan? Rossi? Something really…weird just happened.” Reid called down the hallway, his voice echoing around them. Morgan fought the urge to cover his ears at the practically deafening sound. He saw Reid glance down. Towards the pocket of his dress shirt, which was partially obscured by the cardigan he was wearing.

“Right. Sorry,” he said, this time more quietly. Still more than loudly enough for them to hear him.

“We need to get his attention,” Hotch said quickly.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, we’re still not sure what exactly is going on here, and-“

It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise to Morgan that Rossi would be the one to verbalize doubts about Hotch’s statement. He’d only joined - or rejoined, technically, since he’d been one of the founders - the BAU a few months prior. In that time, he’d shown himself to be outspoken and a little less than a team player on multiple occasions.

“-and Reid can help us figure it out,” Hotch interrupted him. Even in the dim lighting, Morgan could see doubt glittering in Rossi’s eyes. He hated to admit it, but he wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to what he guessed Rossi was thinking. Reid was his coworker, a veritable genius, his friend…and also currently big enough to crush him without a second thought. He knew Reid wouldn’t do that, of course, but seeing a human that was so impossibly large was unsettling regardless of who it was.

He swallowed, trying to push his feelings of unease aside. Reid would never hurt them, he told himself. Drawing in a steadying breath, he nodded. “Hotch is right. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but we can hardly just hide behind this table forever.”

Rossi didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t make any move to silence Hotch when the other man called out towards the giant. At first, it didn’t look like he’d had any success in getting Reid’s attention. On the third shout, though, the giant’s head snapped their way.

“Hotch?” Morgan was thankful that he once again spoke more softly.

“Reid! We’re over here! By the desk!” JJ joined Hotch in shouting. He’d definitely heard them that time, and began walking towards the upturned desk. Morgan tried to ignore the panic that flitted through his stomach as Reid drew closer. Guilt followed it moments later.

He’s your friend. Why are you scared? You’ve worked with him for years.

Of course, it was less Reid that Morgan was scared of and more his comparitively giant size. A size that became far too real as he drew nearer to them. They barely came up past his ankles, Morgan realized. Maybe Rossi was right to have doubts about this plan, maybe-

“Oh, thank god I found you guys. Are you all okay? This-this shouldn’t be possible. For a number of reasons, starting with the square cube law.” Reid crouched down beside the desk, his gaze locked on the four of them. Morgan felt himself take a step back in spite of himself. He was fairly certain Reid noticed, based on the split second glance followed by a slight frown that crossed his face.

“I think we’re all fine,” Hotch said. “So, you have some idea of what happened, then?”

Reid shook his head. “Well, no. Because, again, this shouldn’t be possible. But apparently you guys have somehow been…shrunken?”